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JOSIAH CONDER 



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BY 



EUSTACE R. CONDER, M.A, 



lAIAI TENEAI TnHPETHSAS THI TOT SEOT BOTAHI 

EKOIMHSH 



LONDON 

JOHN SNOW, 35 PATERNOSTER ROW 



KOOOOLTII. 



J/^. d . c'V, 



CONTENTS. 



IlTTBOBTJCTOBY GhAFTXB. — ^FOBHEB GeKEBATIONB . 

Chapteb I. — ^Easly Lots 



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n. — CJOMINO OP AOB . . . .61 

III. — CinzBN Ain) HusBiLND ... 80 

TV. — ^Thb "EcLBcno Rbvibw " — Feienps and 



CONTBTBUTOBS . 

y. — ComfTRY Life aitd Litxsaby Laboubs 
VI. — ^Watpobd .... 
VII. — Politics aiid Thxology i 
Vni. — Jjotstdov Again 
IX.— -Gk)iNO Home 



I 



125 
208 
238 
270 
806 
347 



JOSIAH CONDER: 



A MEMOIR. 



INTEODUCTOEY CHAPTEK. 
rOBMEB OEITESATIOFS. 

The jGamilj records or traditions of the Conders do 
not extend further back than to the sixth generation; 
nor do thej include any names illustrious for rank, 
wealth, or genius. Happilj, thej are equallj undis- 
tiDguished bj dishonour or crime ; so that if Josiah 
CoiTDEB had not much to be proud of in his ancestry, he 
had nothing to be ashamed of. Their arms are not to 
be discovered at the Herald's College, and therefore it is 
probable they never bore any ; and their only estates were 
their £eurms, which they cultivated themselves. But they 
bequeathed to their descendants the inheritance of an 
honest name and a religious example ; and if worth and 
piety can ennoble, and every true Christian is the child of 
a king and the heir to a kingdom, there were not a few 
of the stock who could show good claims to that sort of 
nobility. 

The family appears to have come originally from the 
north of England. The name is found in Yorkshire and 

B 



2 FAMILY TRADITIONS. 

LancaBhire, and was, perhaps, taken from a small stream 
in the latter county. According to Dr. Johnson, the 
word is also (or was formerly) applied to ^' such as stand 
upon high places near the sea, in the time of herring 
fishing, to make signs to the fishers which way the shoal 
passeth." It appears to have been towards the close of 
of James the First's, or the commencement of Charles 
the First's reign, that two brothers of this name migrated 
from the neighbourhood of Leeds, to seek their fortune 
in the south. Energetic, enterprising young fellows one 
may suppose they were ; and having settled in Cam- 
bridgeshire, they were so far prosperous that they did 
not care to go back again, but took root and flourished, 
and seyeral branches of their descendants exist at this 
day. 

One of these brothers, the Atavus, or great-great- 
great grand&ther, of Josiah Cokdeb, was Richard, who 
became a dairy farmer at Croydon-cum-Clapton, in Cam- 
bridgeshire. He was ''a godly man, and strict non- 
conformist." An interesting anecdote of his early life 
is thus related by his great-grandson, Dr. John Conder :* 
— ''In a yisit to James Cornell with some friends — ^he 
was an old disciple, and at that time est. ninety and 
upwards (which was a.d. 1740) — ^the good old man 
caused himself to be raised on his pillow, and inquiring 
who I was, spoke as follows : — ' I knew this young man's 
father, and his grandfather, and his great grandfather. 
He was a little phun man, who kept Soyston Market, as 
my father also did. I was but a boy, who went with 
him. The custom of the good men in those days was, 
when they had done their marketings, to meet together 
and spend their penny together in a private room, where, 

* MS. memoir of Dr. Conder, in potieuion of Mr. James Conder, 
of Ipewioh. 



THE BOOK OF SPORTS. 3 

without intemiption, they might talk fireely about the 
things of Gk)d; how they had heard on the Sabbath, 
and how they had gone on the week past, etc. I was ad- 
mitted to sit in a comer of the room. One day, when 
I was there, the conversation turned upon this ques- 
tion — By what means God first visited their souls and 
began a work of grace on them ? It was your great- 
grand&ther's turn to speak, and his account struck 
me so I never forgot it. He told the company as 
follows : — 

" ' When I was a young man, I was greatly addicted 
to footbaU-playing, and as the custom was in our parish, 
and in many others, the young men, as soon as church 
was over, took the football and went to play. Our 
minister ofben remonstrated against our breaking the 
Sabbath, which, however, had little effect ; only my con- 
science checked me at times, and I would sometimes 
steal away and hide myself from my companions ; but 
being dexterous at the game, they would find me out and 
get me again among them. This would bring on me 
more guilt and horror of conscience. And thus I went 
on sinning and repenting a long time, but had not reso- 
lution to break off from the practice, till one Sabbath 
morning our good minister acquainted his hearers that 
he was very sorry to tell them, that by order of the King 
(James I.) and Council, he must read them the following 
paper, or turn out of his living. This was the Book of 
Sports, forbidding the minister or churchwardens or any 
others to molest or discourage the youth in their manly 
sports and recreations on the Lord's Day, etc.* While 
our minister was reading it, I was seized with a chill and 
horror not to be described. Now, thought I, iniquity is 
established by a law, and sinners are hardened in their 

* A.D. 1617. 



illllllM 

60001 581 9U 



6 THE REV. JABEZ CONDER. 

he left to Ids wife and beirs to tliis day, at Great Qrans- 
den aforesaid. 

" Jabez Conder, at set. 83, married (in 1713) Eliza- 
beth, the eldest daughter of William and Frances Linkem 
(a farmer at Everton, Bedfordshire), at SBt. about 20, by 
whom he had one son, bom June 3, O.S., 1714, John 
Conder, baptized by his grandfather, who, with tears, 
kissed him, and said, ' Who knows what sad days these 
little eyes are likely to see !' it being then a very lower- 
ing aspect of things which then attended the Dissenters. 
But in two months after, the clouds broke with Queen 
Anne's death ; and fair days succeeded ever after. 8o 
that these eyes have for more than sixty years seen nothing 
but goodness and mercy following them and the churches 
of Christ even to this day 

" My father's death took place October 18, 1727, by this 
awful providence : I boarded with grandmother Linkem, 
at Fotton, and went to school there with Mr. Hicks the 
clergyman. Father and mother came over to see us from. 
Wimple, early in the morning. Leaving mother with us, 
after breakfast he took his horse, and rode to Biggles- 
wade, where he dined with his brother Linkem, and in 
the afternoon returning to Fotton, his horse on the gallop, 
a cow, driven in a near path (which it seems had only one 
eye), hearing the noise of the horse, she started suddenly 
across his path. GThe horse ran against her, fell over her, 
and threw father off with sugh violence, as to give him a 
large contusion over his eye ; and, withal, such a shock 
of his whole frame, bb broke a blood-vessel within him. 
In which condition, a neighbour that was with him re- 
covered his horse, set father upon him, and so ha was 
conducted to grandmother's, sensible, but near gone, and 
expired in a quarter of an hour. I was gone to the bar- 
ber, to put on a wig for the first time ; and came back 



HIS DEATH. 7 

with great pride, and pleasure of thought how father 
would admire my new dress ; but when I came to the 
door, was met by Aunt Eebekah in tears, who abruptly 
said, ' Your &ther is killed by a fall from his horse.' I 
razi, speechless and benumbed with surprise, to the bed's 
foot, where he lay asleep, and snoring as when in health, 
but soon fetched his breath shorter and shorter. In a 
few minutes it stopped, when the blood gushed out of 
nose, mouth, and ears. So I stood like a statue, and 
saw him breathe his last. Then I first knew that smaller 
sorrows produce tears, greater ones stun and stupify. I 
was but thirteen and about four months ; but it made 
very deep impressions for a time. A bright and cheer- 
ful morning, but shut up in a dismal night to us all. So 
certain is it that we know not what a day may bring 
forth. 

"Father died intestate; poor mother was disconso- 
late, and left in a great deal of cumber, not merely by 
her own farm, but father being an active, knowing man, 
and taking delight in assisting the widow and fatherless, 
he had engaged as executor to seyeral of his neighbours, 
and guardian for their children. And mother being of a 
tender, delicate constitution, these things almost overset 
her; but, after awhile, my cousin Joseph Porter came 
and managed affairs for her, and helped her through her 
difficulties. 

"Mother being deemed a young and likely widow, 
after a time had several suitors; and after about four 
years she married to a young, tall, personable man, the 
eldest son of Mr. Stephen Hawkes of Eockets. He was 
thought too young for her by Mends who dissuaded 
her from the match ; but her affections were fixed. And 
as part of the stock was mine, and too much for him to 
pay for, it turned upon my promise that I would let my 



8 DR. JOHN CONDER. 

part continue, he paying me interest. M7 mother be- 
came petitioner to her aon, that she should never know a 
happy day more if I did not comply ; and that surely I 
ought to make Uer life comfortable who had given me 
life and being. Her argument was too delicate and 
moving to meet with a denial, though, as I judged, I ran 
no small hazard, as it proved ; for I lost upwards of a 
hundred pounds, principal and interest, by him. George 
Hawkes was a loving and well-behaved husband to 
mother, and a veiy agreeable companion to me, being 
but about five years older than his son ; and in mother's 
absence we went for brothers." 

The manuscript from which the foregoing extracts 
and some which follow are taken was penned by Dr. 
Gonder, a few years before his death, for the instruction 
of his children. It does not appear that his childhood 
and boyhood gave much promise of the unaffected, 
humble, and laborious piety of his subsequent life. But 
in this the prayers of his father were answered, though 
he was not spared to see the answer ; for from his birth, 
he tells us, his father had conceived a strong desire, and 
withal a strong impression on his mind, that, he should 
be a minister, and commenced his education, even as a 
boy, with this end in view. John, however, did not 
show any great love for study. Being sent, affcer his 
father's death, to the grammar-school at Hitchin, his 
" head ran much affcer going home and being a farmer,*' 
which Us mother was much against, urging that it was 
his Other's purpose he should be a scholar, and she was 
resolved to fulfil his will. However, Mr. Newman (his 
instructor) persuaded her to take him home for the 
harvest, and advised her to work him hard, and he would 
then be glad to come to school again when it was over. 



HIS YOUTHFUL EXPERIENCE. 9 

But he was loath to return, though after awhile he was 
brought to consent, upon her promising that, if he con- 
tinued so averse to it, he should '' come home and be 
the fermer." On his return, Mr. Newman behaved with 
much tenderness, and then he applied with cheerfulness, 
and never wanted to leave his studies more. ** I con- 
tinued,*' he sajs, " in this situation between three and 
four years, in which time I got near the top form in the 
school." 

When he ;wa8 about eighteen, it happened that a 
London minister, named Pain, was visiting his friends in 
Essex, and mentioned a society recently established, un- 
der the name of the King's Head Society, for educating 
pious young men for the ministry. The name of John 
Conder was mentioned as a promising^d suitable can- 
didate. "Upon which," says he, "I'Was sent for to 
Eoyston, to be conversed with by Mr. Pain ; but he was 
in great haste, and directed me to write an account of 
my experience, and send it by post to him in town. I 
returned home that evening full of disappointment and 
concern, never having entertained the thoughts I ever ^ 
had experienced the grace of Gtod in truth. But as a 
letter must be vmtten, I was put upon very close thought 
and examination what indeed I had to say with integrity 
of heart, and this was so Httle that I persuaded myself 
that, upon receiving my letter, the old gentleman would 
quite desist, as well judging I was not fit to be taken 
in by the Society. 

"I had to write that I made conscience of secret 
prayer and hearing the word ; and that, some time before, 
the Eev. Mr. Bobert "Wright had preached at Hitchin, 
text, * ^ay, hut I say unless ye repent^ etc., which came 
with convincing power ; and that when I came over to 
Boyston, Mr. Pain's text was the same, which I judged 



10 DR. JOHN CONDER. 

a particular voice of Qtod (as the message was thus re- 
peated). Some texts of Scripture (as Isa. i. 18, Johnvi. 
37, etc.) were added, as what gave some relief under 
these convictions. So the letter was sent, and by return 
of post an order came requiring me to come to be con- 
versed with by a committee. I went with much fear and 
trembling; but was examined by the Bev. Mr. John 
Sladen, Mr. Jonathan Eowlet, treasurer, and Mr. Hart- 
grave. They reported favourably. I was admitted, and 
ordered to repair, as soon as convenient, to the Bev. Mr. 
Samuel Parson's care in Clerkenwell. Some time after, 
I was taken in member of Mr. Pain's church. But after 
two or three sacrament days, Mr. Pain unhandsomely 
left his church, aud retired into the country and died. 
This event was matter of great discouragement to my 
mind, as if the Lord hereby rebuked me for joining so 
soon." 

Soon after commencing his studies at Clerkenwell, 
the youthful nonconformist was subjected to a somewhat 
severe test of his stedfast attachment to principle. His 
mother having come up to London to be treated for 
cancer (of which, in the following year, she died), was 
attended by "the celebrated Mrs. Stevens," whose re- 
medies attracted so much attention at that time as to 
obtain for her a parliamentary grant of six thousand 
pounds. 

" The old lady," as he relates, who often saw him when 
he visited his mother, took a great fancy to the embryo 
divine, and " courted me much to go to St. Omer's for 
education, which she promised should be all gratis, and 
with a full supply of the pocket, etc. ; by which I could 
see what religion she was of, and how diligent the 
Papists are to gain proselytes. I was helped to make 
Moses' choice, choosing rather to suffer affliction with 



J 



HIS MINISTRY, TUTORSHIP, AND DEATH. 11 
the people of God, than enjoy the pleasures of sin for a 



season." 



He was afterwards placed under the tuition of Mr. 
Eames, " a man of great knowledge, and a very able 
tutor." He commenced his ministry in 1738, at the age 
of twenty-four, and was ordained the following year at 
Cambridge, where he continued to labour during sixteen 
years. Li 1734, he was invited to become Theological 
Tutor in the " Academy" established by the King's Head 
Society at Mile-end. His diary shows the surprise and 
unaffected humility with which he entertained this invi- 
tation, and the spirit of prayer and self-distrust in which 
he entered on the office, which he filled with honour until 
his death. The institution was removed in 1770 to Homer- 
ton, and is now merged in New College. 

TTia diploma of Doctor of Divinity was conferred 
upon him, without his knowledge, by the University of 
Aberdeen, in 1762. He continued to discharge the 
duties both of his College tutorship and of the pastor- 
ship of the church in Moorfields (a co-pastorship fart of 
the time) for one-and-twenty years. On May 30, 1781, 
he peacefully and happily departed for the better coun- 
try.* An epitaph, found in his own handvmting, and 

* On the moming before he died, he requested bis son Thomas to 

sing a £skyoiirite hymn, which may be found in the first edition of 

the Congregational Hymn Book (No. 611), the first Terse of which 

is as, follows : — 

" Kerer weather-beaten sail 

More willing bent to shore ; 
Never tired pilgrim's limbs 

Affected slumber more ; 
Than my weary spirit longs 

To fly out of my troubled breast 
Oh, come quickly, dearest Lord ! 

And take my soul to rest !" 



12 AN ADVENTURE. 

engrayen on his tombstone in Bimhill Fields, maj not 
be out of place in these introductory memorials : — 

PECCAVI 

BESIFUI CO'STIDI 

AMJLYI BEQUIESCO 

BESUROAK 

ET EX OBATIJL CHRISTI 

VT TJT IKDIOKUS 

BEOKABO 

An adventure which befel him when residing at Cam- 
bridge places his character in an interesting light, and is 
worth recording as a picture of the times. Betuming 
on horseback from Peterborough, he was attacked bj a 
mounted highwayman, whom he at once recognised as a 
former inhabitant of Cambridge, but had the presence 
of mind to conceal his knowledge. He at once surren- 
dered his purse, but pleaded hard ibr his watch, which 
he yalued as an heirloom ; but the robber was inexo- 
rable. Throughout the affair, the man's inward uneasiness 
and agitation betrayed itself under all his assumed 
courage and violence. Mr. Conder civilly proposed, as 
the road was lonely, that they should ride in company ; 
and the highwayman assenting, he began with great 
kindness and seriousness to inquire into the motives 
which could induce him to such a criminal course, which 
must issue so fatally, here and hereafter. The robber 
urged the plea of necessity ; but as the conversation 
continued, his conscience was roused ; he offered to re- 
turn the watch, and, at length, the money also. The 
former Mr. Conder accepted, as he greatly valued it ; 
but as to the latter — amounting to several guineas — ^he 
said that he would, on no account, take it back, but 



A DREAM. 13 

begged the man to regard it as a free gift, to assist him 
in escaping from this miserable mode of life. The man 
thanked him earnestly, and galloped off as they drew 
near Cambridge; but fell, almost instantly, into the 
hands of the officers, who were watching to apprehend 
him, on account of previous robberies. Great was Mr. 
Conder's surprise, on entering the streets of the city, 
to encounter his friend in custody. He visited him in 
prison, both before and after his trial, and had every 
reason to believe that the unhappy man died a real 
penitent. 

Dr. John Conder left several sons, of whom the 
fourth, Thomas, was father to the subject of the ensuing 
memoir. He was a man of superior and cultivated 
abilities, amiable and kind heart, mild and quiet temper, 
and devoitt piety. He was brought up to the business 
of a map engraver. During his apprenticeship his mind 
was greatly impressed by a remarkable dream. He 
thought that he and a fellow-apprentice, with whom he 
was intimate, were in prison together, under sentence of 
death. The morning of execution arrived. They were 
brought out, ascended the scaffold, and the cap was al- 
ready drawn over their faces, when there was a sudden 
agitation in the crowd, a distant shouting, and presently 
the word, " Beprieve ! BeprieveP^ rung from mouth to 
mouth. The messenger galloped up to the scaffold; 
the paper which he bore was snatched from his hand, 
and opened, and found to contain the name of Thomas 
Conder only. He was saved, and his companion exe- 
cuted. He awoke in great agitation, not a little re- 
joiced to find it but a dream. Not long after, this 
same fellow-apprentice and himself were seized with 
fever, and both lay ill at the same time, uncertain 
which would die first. His companion died; but, 



14 MR. THOMAS CONDER. 

through the mercy of God, he recorered; and the 
correspondence of the event with his dream could not 
hut deepen on his mind the impression of this de- 
liverance. He had received a good classical educa- 
tion (having heen accustomed to attend the College 
lectures with the students), and many years afterwards 
he coidd repeat from memory long passages out of 
Homer. He was a man of excellent judgment, and 
well read, hut shy, and making no ostentatious display 
of his abilities. One of his favourite amusements 
was painting butterflies or other insects from life, in 
which he displayed admirable skill. He ground his own 
colours, and painted before breakfast ; and after eighty 
years, these insect-portraits, which are so minutely 
finished as to bear the magnifier, retain their freshness. 
He lived to the age of eighty-four, and then received 
the answer to his cherished wish and prayer, by a sudden 
and most easy departure. Though in the earlier part of 
his life his health had been often infirm and interrupted, 
his age was vigorous. At sixty, he left off his wig, and 
had a fine head of hair when he died. The day before 
he died he had walked into town ; and within two or 
three hours of his death — ^being apparently but slightly 
unweU — ^he gave full directions to the friend who was to 
take his place at the committee meeting of Homerton 
College. He had held the treasurership to the College 
for many years, and had prepared the accounts and re- 
port for the annual meeting of the committee, which 
took place that veiy day. While it was being held, he 
was gently summoned to give in his account with joy in 
his Master's presence. He published, at the request of 
his friends, a little volume of essays, full of good sense 
and piety, under the title of " Opinions of an Old Oen- 
tleman,*^ which reached a second edition. 



THE highwayman's GALLANTRY. 16 

Mrs. Thomas Conder, Josiah Cokdeb's mother, was 
a woman of excellent good sense and judgment, great 
energy and strength of character, and sincere piety. 
Her maiden name was also Conder, but there was no 
near relationship. She also lived to be upwards of 
eighty, retaining the Ml use of her faculties, and her 
characteristic love of independence and self-help, inso- 
much that her death was hastened by her stooping to tie 
her own shoestring. 

An adventure which happened to her mother when a 
girl seems worth relating, as a pendant to that already 
related of Dr. Conder. Miss Esther Stonard, as she then 
was, accompanied by another young lady, was riding near 
Chelmsford rather late, in the evening. A gentleman 
splendidly mounted rode up, and politely entering into 
conversation with them, asked if they were not afraid to 
be out so late alone, as Turpin was ofben on that road. 
Miss Stonard replied that they had brave hearts, and 
that, besides, she was sure Turpin was too much of a 
gentleman to attack ladies. Their companion, smiling, 
said that he believed she was right, but that some of 
Turpin's followers might be less scrupulous; and he 
would, if they pleased, accompany them until they were 
out of danger. On coming to a cross-lane not &r from 
the town, he bowed courteously, and galloped off. As 
soon as they reached home, they recounted their adven- 
ture ; and on describing their protector, they found that 
it was no other than " Dick Turpin" himself. When, 
some years after, Turpin was taken, and executed in the 
same town of Chelmsford, it is said that there was not a 
dry eye in the place. Compared with the forms, at once 
dastardly and ferocious, which crime has assumed in 
England of late years, these little incidents of the ro- 
mance of highway robbery in the days of Gteorge^the 



16 NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. 

Second are leaJlj quite refreshing. In these degenerate 
days, it is only here and there a banking baronet, or a 
director or secretary of some public company, who is 
found capable of executing his robberies in a thoroughly 
gentlemanly manner. In one respect, indeed, the Sir 
John Pauls and Leopold Bedpaths of our day haye made 
a decided advance on their predecessors. It is not related 
that Dick Turpin ever subscribed to benevolent insti- 
tutions, or made any profession of religion. 

The grass has long been green, and the leaves of 
many an autumn have fallen over the mouldering dust" 
of thosb whose names have filled these introductory pages ; 
but their prayers have not ceased to be answered, and 
the God whom they trusted and honoured has been the 
Gk>d of their children, and their children's children. 
This preliminary chapter will not, it is hoped, be deemed 
either tedious or out of place, though it must needs be 
more interesting to the writer than to most of his readers. 
Certainly, it is both an honour and a happiness to be 
permitted to think of the heavenly world as the home of 
former generations of those but for whose sojourn on 
earth we had not been ; and they are to be congratulated 
who can say, as they turn the pages of their family history, 
how obscure or unattractive soever to the mere worldly 
eye, " This Qoj> is oub God fob eveb and evxb : Hjb 

WILL BE OUB GUIDE EVEN TO DEATH.'' 



CHAPTEE I. 

EAELT LIFE. 

JosiAH CoiTDEB, fourth ^on and sixth child of Thomas 
Conder, citizen of London, and engraver, was bom in 
!Palcon Street, Aldersgate, on the I7th of September, 
1789. He brought with him into the world a better 
inheritance than lands or gold, namely, a sound and 
healthful constitution, capable of enduring severe toil, 
and a cheerM, hopeful, elastic temperament, which stood 
him in good stead under the cares and disappointments 
and trials of a long and busy life. Unmistakable indi- 
cations of more than ordinary mental ability and energy 
very early displayed themselves ; and the circumstances 
in which his childhood was spent tended to cherish a 
quiet, sensitive, meditative turn of mind, and to form the 
man of letters, rather than the man of action. Above 
aU, religion must'be reckoned as the predominant influ- 
ence in his education, and in the formation of his charac- 
ter. He counted it a great honour to be sprung from a 
family in which piety (as well as non-conformity) was 
hereditary. The prayers, example, and instructions of 
Christian parents presented religion to him, from.his very 
infancy, under its happiest aspect ; the Spirit of G-od 
seems early to have prepared the soil for the precious 
seed which loving and unwearied hands thus early drop- 
ped in ; and the profound and stedfast convictions of 
religious truth, the devout habit of thought and feeling, 





18 EABLT LIFE. 

and the simple cbildlike flutli which distinguished him 
through life, were but the ripened promise of his early 
years. 

In an autobiographical fragment, commenced in his 
twentieth year, and designed for the inspection of him- 
self alone,* he thus reviews the circumstances of his birth 
and childhood : — '^ It is, in these perilous and eventful 
times, a circumstance which calls loudly on my gratitude, 
that I am by birth planted in the happiest nation under 
heaven ; the most enlightened, the most secure, the most 
distinguished, the most Christian ; that I am bom at an 
era in which, notwithstanding the pressure of various 
external and domestic evils, this happiest country may 
be said to have attained a higher degree of perfection 
than it has ever enjoyed with respect to the diffusion of 
general knowledge and of religiotis truth ; a season of 
civil tranquillity and religious freedom. Add to this, that 
Providence has stationed me in that sphere of respectable 
mediocrity which is in every way the most favourable to 
happiness. I am not descended from the great and the 
opulent ; but of what unspeakably greater honour is it to 
inherit the name, the prayer^i, ftnd the instructions of the 
fiuthfiil servants of Gt>d ! Has not Gk>d answered the 
prayers, and honoured the faith of his people in their 
third and fourth generations ? And may I not, then, 
owe, in measure, what I enjoy to my pious ancestors ? 
How gratefully should I reflect on the privileges of a 
pious education ! Surely, memory will ever delight to 
recall the Sabbath evening*s catechism and hymns, and 

* ''TheplanlmMatoponueis, toRJ6etaUplftn,and tosetdown 
my reooUeotions and leflectioiu as they occur. ... It is designed for 
the inspection of myself alone^ so I need not care about style ; but let 
me be serious, faithful, and impartial, as exposed to the scrutiny of 
Omnisdenoe." 



CHILDHOOiy. 19 

convenaiions in my father's studj. Perhaps nothing has 
tended more deeply to &c in my mind the belief of an 
overruling Providence, than the anecdotes which my in- 
£uit mind heard with such interest of the remarkable deli- 
verances and preservations of good men. These anecdotes 
I recollect frequently to have repeated at school to amuse 
the boys, and believe they had a good effect on my mind ; 
for from my very childhood I have felt a firm conviction, 
accompanied with sweet consolation, of the truth of this 
doctrine." 

Parental instructions are not seldom counteracted 
by the folly or wickedness of the servants to whom 
children are carelessly intrusted. It deserves notice 
therefore that, in this review of the writer's childhood, 
he specially records his great obligations to a faithful and 
intelligent nurse. This pious and worthy woman sur- 
vives, at the age of eighty-six, and still loves to speak of 
the early piety of the little boy whom she nursed and 
instructed six^ years ago. At four years old he learned 
to read well, so that when at five y^ars old he went to 
school, he was placed in the third class, and soon made 
his way to the head. 

The circiunstance which was the occasion of his being 
sent at that early age to a boarding-school, was a serious 
.calamity which befel him, yet which in later years he 
'' did not scruple to rejoice in, as the probable fountjiin of 
future blessings." This was nothing less than the loss of 
an eye. According to the practice at that period, he was 
inoculated with small pox, and, although he had it most 
favourably, the providence of G-od, often severest when 
kindest, ordained that the right eye should be one of the 
very few points at which the poison of the disease mani- 
fested itself; and the result was the irreparable destruc- 
tion of that precious organ. " Perhaps," he writes, " no 



20 EARLY LIFE. 

other event has had such a merciful and decided influence 
on mj character and lot in life. The consequence was, 
that I attracted a double share of care, sympathy, and 
attention, and even from strangers met with the caresses 
of pity. To try the eflfect of electricity in reducing the 
eye, which then projected beyond the socket, I was sent 
as a visitor to Mr. Palmer's ; but here I by choice be- 
came a scholar, pursued the study of my Latin grammar 
con amore, and thus got the start of my seniors in the 
race of education." 

In the same year, 1795, he had a dangerous attack of 
scarlet fever, which nearly cut short his life. From that 
time he never had any serious illness until he reached 
manhood. The eye which was mercifully preserved, was 
singularly brilliant and powerful; and the disfiguring 
effect of the disease was almost entirely remedied, during 
great part of his life, by means of a glass eye, until, in 
later years, he was compelled to lay this aside and sub- 
stitute a shade. 

The school to which he was thus sent was at Hackney, 
end was kept by theEev.Mr. Palmer, the predecessor in the 
pastoral office of the Eev. Henry Foster Burder. He made 
rapid progress in the ordinary school studies, and became 
a favourite both amongst his companions and with his 
masters. One of his sisters, writing in reference to his 
schoolboy days, records his unusual power of abstraction, 
and of paying simultaneous attention to different and dis- 
cordant objects ; and the ease with which he acquired his 
leBsons undercircumstances apparentlymost unfavoiurable. 
" He never sat steadily at his desk like other boys, to pre- 
pare for the classes, but was sure to assume some grotesque 
poBition, and, with pen or pencil in hand, would be scrib- 
bling caricatures, or otherwise amusing himself, not heed- 
ing the friendly warning of M. Paris, his excellent French 



SCHOOL-DATS. 21 

master. His mind was busy working while his fingers 
were playing truant, and never was he found unprepared 
for the master." He ofben spoke, in after years, of this 
worthy and kind-hearted Frenchman, with whom he was 
a &yourite pupil, in terms of affectionate and respectful 
remembrance ; and related how discouraged he used to be 
by the scanty meed of approval, and the harsh strictures 
awarded to his Erench exercises, until one day, having 
ventured to remonstrate, not without tears, that M. Paris 
seemed to deal much more severely with him than with 
the other boys, the good Frenchman burst forth with a 
tone and manner that quite made amends for the uncom- 
plimentary epithet — " Tou grate fool, Josiah ! you grate 
fool ! Do you not see, zat it is just because you are ze 
only boy in ze school zat I care for, zat I an^mor^ severe 
wiz you zan wiz aU de rest ?" This was quite a new light 
on the matter, and the discovery communicated a new 
spur to the boy's mind, and fiiUy reconciled him for the 
future to aU. M. Paris's fault-finding. 

Becording, in the manuscript already quoted, his re- 
turn to school after the Christmas of 1797, when in his 
ninth year, he continues :^-" I recollect mixiug but little 
in play with my schoolfellows, which I attribute partly 
to my eye. This also, as well as my youth and smaU- 
ness, induced me to avoid all fighting. I remember but 
two boys with whom I came to blows. By this means I 
was led to choose more still and quiet pleasures and 
pursuits; and being under the protection of old Mrs. 
Palmer, it was thus, perhaps, that a foundation was laid 
for my domestic taste and literary propensity. Among 
my juvenile whims and projects — ^I believe first acciden- 
tally lighting on a sixpenny astrological book — I, with 
two others, set up as fortune-tellers. We amused our- 
selves, and succeeded in elevating oxu*selves by our eccen- 



22 EABLT LIFE. 

tricily abore the undistingoished vulgar of our little 
world. But I must confess that, whether my mind was 
or was not predisposed to superstition, this fancy served 
to strengthen ideas which were with difficulty shaken off 
afterwards by reason. One of my astrological associates, 
my fellow in age, class, and attainments, soon grew into 
a rival, and exhibited in miniature ail the jealousy, policy, 
and ambition of a full-grown competitor on a nobler 
field. I do not recollect to have myself felt, at least to 
the degree I observed in him, that jealous spirit of emu- 
lation. Nevertheless, it operated as a stimulus to ex- 
ertion, and taught me a little what to expect from the 
world. I believe I began French at eight years old, and 
well remember working at my French fables out of 
school-liourg ; so that I had always translated three or 
four beforehand, and transcribed them on long slips of 
paper. On similar scraps I used, while the others were 
in school-time getting their tasks, to compose my first 
literary essays, in the shape of Eastern tales, etc. ; many 
ofi which, falling into the hands of my schoolmaster, 
afforded him no small diversion. For this sort of stories, 
perhaps from reading the ^ Arabian Nights,' I had always 
a strong partiality ; but am convinced that, great as the 
influence of books is over the tender mind, the nature • 
and the power of this influence must essentially depend 
on the previous and attendant circmnstaaces with which 
the mind is enveloped. Thus, though I veiy early read, 
was delighted with, and learned by heart extracts from 
Pope's 'Hiad,' I do not recollect that I was at all 
alive to its poetical beauties, so that they could contri- 
bute to form my taste ; nor do I appear to have imbibed 
any of those martial ideas and feelings, which in other 
minds of the same age they have a great tendency to 
produce. X was much interested in the characters and 



JUVENILE AUTHOKSHIP. 23 

narratiye, and helped to fonn games &om it, in which I 
chose yolimtarily the quiet part of UlysseB, because of 
his wisdom, and of his being protected by Minerva, who, 
with Apollo, were my earliest fiivourites of the Pantheon, 
which I read with interest. The rival before alluded to 
gloried in assuming, when no one stronger claimed it, the 
congenial character of AchiUes or Agamemnon. The 
friendship and history of Fatroclus always delighted me, 
and Priam's visit to Achilles to beg the body of his son. 

" The stage had its turn in my amusements, for which 
the public speeches naturally induced a taste. Dr. 
Young's * Busiris' and ' The Brothers' I assisted in per* 
forming, talking myself the part of the heroine. Then 
there was a newspaper which I edited, and which reached 
a second or third number, so early was I seized with the 
cacoethes seribendi. My first poetical effort was the 
trying to bend some of iEsop's Fables — ^I recollect for 
one, Fortune and the Boy — ^into rhyme. These match- 
less poems I wrote out as well as I could, and prized 
like old gold, keeping them with religious care from the 
eye of every mortal. 

"At ten years old I wrote my first essay for the 
* Preceptor;'* and from that time till leaving school 
continued monthly to furnish for it an essay, criticism, 
or translation, by which my literary propensities and 
solitary habits were confirmed. I was thus obliged to 
read, and think, and digest. Two circumstances I re* 
member attended these productions. I always wrote, or 
fancied I wrote, best at evening ; and my principal diffi- 
culty in composition was keeping close to tl;e questicm. 

* The " Monthly Piweptor" was a collection of juvenile essajB, to 
which several of Mr. Palmer^s scholars contributed. Frizes were given 
to the best compositions, and two silver medalB rewarded Josiah 
Conder^s schoolboy akjnnishes in the field of authozBhip. 



24 EAKLY LIFE. 

^ In Bummoiiiiig up the past feelings of my school-day 
mind, I behold the spirit of adventure appearing to in- 
fluence my character, but its operations were too childish 
and trivial to appear of any importance on paper ; such 
as stealing into the garden over the pales at night, and 
exploring the house, the only interest arising from a 
dread of discovery ; the mysterious feeling inspired by 
darkness, and the daring to do what others dared not. 
This attached importance to midnight bolster battles, 
and reconciled me to sitting for half hours in the cold in 
my night-gown at the parlour-door, Hstening to the 
organ, long after we were sent to bed. 

'* It was at school that natural philosophy engaged 
more of my attention than it has ever done since. I 
used to steal out of school, and instead of writing and 
arithmetic, recollect many a delightful siunmer afternoon 
spent in the playground with Adams*s Lectures (I think). 
Not confined to theory, I aspired to be a practical philo- 
'Bopher, and united with two other boys in the pursuit 
for a time with spirit. We got an old outhouse for a 
laboratory, and there I have passed many an hour. I 
must own I was not so active in the business, except 
with my book, as my companions; but I cannot help 
suspecting that this was a point in my life when I might 
have become a philosopher, had my mind been previously 
formed for such pursuits. From circumstances equally 
insignificant some have dated their career, which con- 
firms me in the opinion of the original diversity of minds, 
and their adaptation to different pursuits. Books, cir- 
cumstances, and associates may awaken a latent feeling, 
but cannot create a taste ; they may colour, but cannot 
decide the form of the natural character. 

'^ At a very early period I remember to have mused 
on the common error that school-days are our happiest.' 



■IMHHP 



6£BHS OF PIETT. 25 

I looked Toimd, and examined our school, reputed one of 
the best, and noticed the kmentable overaight of the 
directors, the insufficieiicj of rules in the place of motive 
and principle, and many fundamental errors in the 
system ; and I resolyed then, if I lived, to take up the 
subject. I reasoned that the cares which then oppressed 
me were not insignificant, considering my youth ; that I 
was deprived of the consolations of firiend^p ; and that 
religion did not deign to prescribe for such petty name* 
less sorrows and complaints. I recollect, in particular, 
being struck with the impropriety of depriving the boys 
indiscriminately of the opportunity of retirement, by 
forbidding them to go up stairs into their rooms, locking 
up the school-room, and enclosing sixty boys in a little 
yard. I thought then, and I think now, school-days are 
not golden days. 

'^I cannot recoUect that I was ever irreligious. I 
desire with gratitude to bear my testimony to the in- 
valuable privilege of a pious education. Beligion was 
with me—first compliance, then habit, tiU it grew into 
feeling and principle. I do not suppose a child has 
generally notions much above natural religion. The 
doctrine of Providence, the performance of religious 
duties, and heaven, were, as fiir as I remember, what prin- 
cipally engaged my thoughts and attention ; and perhaps 
I was then more conscientious than ever I have been 
since. This was not unaccompanied with a reception of 
the doctrines of the Groapel, as far as my mind was able 
to receive them. I received them as part of Scripture, 
and of my education. I very early accustomed myself 
to variation of my prayers, generally founding them on 
some form, but ofben intermixing my extempore thoughts. 
This I consider as a very wholesome exercise, which may 
have had considerable effect on my religious progress. 



26 EARLY LIFE. 

I always loved the Sabbath. At * years old, I first 

began to write the text and heads of the sermon, a cus- 
tom which I have continued with little intermission ever 
since, and must say, as far as I can judge from myseli^ 
that it is a most useful and improving custom. It per- 
petually rouses the attention, and thus fixes what is 
heard upon the memory far more than what is merely 
listened to. It accustoms the mind to an attention to 
system and order, and habituates to a conciseness and 
&cility of expression." 

At this point these brief autobiographical memo- 
randa abruptly break off. Their writer never resumed 
them ; nor was he at any period of his life in the habit of 
making more than the very briefest entries, and those 
not continuously, in his diary. Almost the only remain- 
ing materials therefore at the command of his biographer, 
besides his works (published or unpublished), are a few 
packets of letters, and the reminiscences of surviving 
firiends. 

Mr. Thomas Conder had left the house in Aldersgate 
soon after the date with which this chapter commences ; 
and after residing for two or three years in the neigh- 
bourhood of Blackfiriars, he took a bookselling business 
at No. 80, Bucklersbury, which he continued to carry on 
for about sixteen years. This removal occurred about the 
same time that the little Josiah was niftlriTig his entrance 
(as described by his own pen) into the miniature world of 
school, and laying the foundation of the opinion that 
'* school-days are not golden days." Bucklersbury was 
the home in prospect of returning to which the schoolboy 
essayist, poet, and critic counted the weeks to the holi- 
days ; and the scene in which, when school-days were 

* There is a blank left for this date in the MS., which was neter 
ilDedup. 



REMOVAL FBOM SCHOOL, 27 

over, be made his acquaintance with the dull routine, 
burdensome cares, and irksome confinement of business 
life. 

At the early age of thirteen he was removed &om 
Mr. Palmer's school, and entered his father's shop. It 
was a life altogether unsuited both to his tastes and his 
talents. The natural element of his mind was knowledge, 
not action. However diligently and conscientiously he 
might, and no doubt did, fulfil the innumerable yet 
monotonous duties of his calling, and however cheerfully 
he inured himself to its endless petty cares and vexations, 
it was not in his nature to throw his heart and soul into 
what is technically called "business." If Pegasus be 
put in harness, his wings will infallibly get in his way. 
There is no help for it, but either to take off the harness, 
or to cut off the wings. Many a youthful Pegasus sue- , 
ceeds, after some little trouble, in getting rid of those 
ethereal appendages, and settles down into a good steady 
useful hack. Yet, though the beaten way be paved with 
gold, were it not better, somehow, after aU, since he had 
wings, to have flown ? 

Doubtless, moral discipline, not intellectual culture, 
is the essential aim of education; and therefore the 
principal point to which the providence of Grod tends, 
in arranging the earthly lot of his children. "Were it not 
so, one could not but both wonder and lament that a 
mind of such capacity and facility, with so strong a native 
bent towards literature, and so athirst for knowledge, 
should have been denied the congenial and powerful aids 
of a university education, or some equivalent course of 
prolonged study. Circumstances, it is true, can neither 
create nor destroy intellectual power. But they may do 
very much to foster or to repress it. The strongest 
racer, in shackles, on a rough hill-side, will make poof 



28 EARLY LIFE. 

progress compared to wliat lie would easily achieye on a 
level course, and with &ee limbs. Yet, the shackles 
and the hill-side maj be the training for future triumphs. 
Our earthlj schooling will have done its true work, if 
the great ends of spiritual and moral culture be attained. 
Once the character formed, and the heart purified, ample 
scope and stimulus will be supplied to the intellect in the 
unbounded future. 

Erom the time of his quitting school, Josiah Conder 
was self-educated. Denied the assistance of tutors, and 
of a prescribed course, as well as the enjoyment of quiet 
leisui^e for study, and the stimulus of competition, he was 
obliged to snatch what intervals he could find in the 
midst of business, or what fragments could be spared 
from the hours of relaxation and rest. His reading 
was necessarily desultory ; but, though this was a hin- 
drance to his attaining profound and complete scholar- 
ship, it helped to prepare him for his future literary 
labours. The bent of his mind was towards poetry, theo- 
logy, metaphysics, and criticism, rather than towards 
science or classical erudition. Many of his early friends 
were literary ; few of them were learned. At an early 
age, the recognised acuteness and soundness of his 
judgments secured for him, in the youthful literary circle 
of which he gradually became the centre, the dangerous 
post of acknowledged critic and arbiter elega/ntuB, 
Poetry, however, formed his favourite study, and first 
kindled the ambition to be known as an author. A small 
volume, filled with extracts, from Young's poems, written 
in a close and very good and legible hand, at the age of 
ten years ; and a similar volume, compiled at the age of 
thirteen, entitled " Cowperiana ; or, Extracts from the 
Writings of William Cowper, Esq.," indicate at once 
the models on which his poetical taste was first formed^ 



SELF-EDUCATIOX, 29 

and the diUgenoe with which, at that early age, he studied 
them. The poets who impressed, during the first twenty 
years of this century, a new character and impulse on 
English poetry had not yet emerged into fame. Byron 
and Shelley were schoolboys. Wordsworth was chiefly 
known by the unmitigated ridicule poured on his earlier 
poems; and Southey had rather promised than per- 
formed. When " Mr. Scott's new poem " — ^the Lay of 
the Last Minstrel — took the public admiration by storm, 
Josiah Conder was sixteen ; and he speaks, in one of his 
letters, of reading it with delight. But his poetic 
tastes and susceptibilities instinctively inclined towards 
contemplatiye, tender, meditative communing with na- 
ture, and with the inward life of affection and emotion, 
rather than towards the region of stirring action and 
agitating passion, which is the native home of the poetry 
of romance. Hence, the writings of James Mont- 
gomery, then rising into popularity as a poet, attracted 
his warm admiration, and deeply interested him. Many 
of his youthful essays were submitted to the criticism of 
Mr. Montgomery, whose acute and unsparing, yet kind 
and judicious, strictures were of no little service, espe- 
cially in leading him to a more severe and fastidious criti- 
cism of what he wrote. Their intercourse ripened into a 
friendship, valued on both sides, which lasted through 
half a century, until it was interrupted, Aot terminated, 
by the removal of the elder poet to that world in which 
Christian friendships will be reknit eternally. 

The first appearance of the young author " in print " 
(excepting the_cliildish prize essays before mentioned) 
seems to have been the publication of some lines, written 
at the age of sixteen, entitled " The Withered Oak." 
He says, in one of his letters, " Would it not be a proof 
of consummate vanity in me to send my * Withered 



80 . EAELY LIFE. 

Oak* to the AtJieruBum? I have been advised to do 
it." His scruples on the score of modesty being re- 
moved, the piece was sent, and inserted in the 11th No. 
of the AtheiUBum, then edited by Dr. Aikin, who was so 
pleased with the young poet, that he called at his flEd^her's 
to see him, and asked him to dine at his house. The oc- 
casion of the verses is thus described in a letter to one 
of his sisters. 

'^ The walks about Colchester are most enchanting. 
On Friday we walked to Barfield Common ; set off about 
three, drank tea at the White Hart there, and returned 
about seven. The scenery and sky were most beautifuL 
On returning home, there was an old oak forcibly ar- 
rested our attention. All the surrounding trees and 
verdure were flourishing. This stood in the midst, leaf- 
less and blighted. The next day, the event of the pre- 
oediBg aftoi^oon occasioned the <Lexed poem, which, m 
I have nothing better to offer, I send you." 

THE WITHEBED OAK. 

'Twae AuttuxuL The ran, now descending the sky, 
In a rohe of bright crimson and gold was anny'd ; 

A^liile the pale sickly moon (scarcely open*d her eye) 
Just peep*d thro* the forest, and silyerM the glade. 

The voice of the evening was heard in the trees ; 

Each chirper so merry was seeking his nest ; 
The anthems of insects were miz'd with the breeze^ 

And Nature look*d pleased — all her children were blest. 

E'en the trees appealed dress*d in their holiday dothes,* 

And they waVd their green anns, and they seem'd to ngoice ; 

WhUe methought, as I listen'd, at times there arose 
From each oak's ivied branches a deity's voice. 

* Old'&shioned pronouncing dictionaries give this word as to be 
sounded '* eloze.** 



JUVENILE POETRY. 31 

But ah! there was one that did not appear gay, 
NcNT wave his long bnnchea, now yerdaiit no more; 

The bird, as he yiews him, soars silent away ; 
His genius is dead, and his honours are o'er. 

Once green Eke the rest, strong and lovely be grew ; 

The warbler onoe dwelt in each wdl-corer'd bough ; 
The breeses saluted his leaves as they flew: 

Tes, he has been ; — but now — alas I what is he now ! 

The rays of the morning still shine on the tree^ 
And evening still waters the trunk with her tears ; 

The wild flower and wheatsheaf around it we see ; 
But a wintery ruin this ever i^ypears. 

Oh say, is it sgB that has altered thy foim 
(For care and affliction thou never hast known) ; 

Or hast thou been struck by the pitiless storm, 
That thou thus seom*st to pine and to wither alone ? 

Thou art silent. The silanoe, my fimcy, improve ! 

Come, pause here awhile. It is what thou may'st be. 
iJi! oft in the heyday of pleasure and love^ 

Old friend ! I shall sigh as I think upon thee ! 

August 23rd, '06. 

To the same date — the writer's seventeenth year — 
belongs the following specimen of his correspondence. 
It is the first of a numerous series of letters, kindly fur- 
nished by one of his earliest and most valued literary 
friends.* It gives a glimpse at the scenes then rife with 
the intense interest and vivid activity of the present — 
now shadows on the mirror of the past, amidst which 
his mind was being trained and ripened for future toil 
and usei^ilness. 

* Miss Ann Taylor, afterwards Mrs. Gilbert 



82 EARLY LIFE. 

1806. 

I. ** Judge not, that ye be not judged," is the com- 
mandment of a greater than Solomon. Lord Nelson was 
a truly great man. His exertions, heroic and apparently 
disinterested, have freed us &om the fear of inyasion, 
and Britain will ever venerate his name. But with 
respect to his character before Grod, what he will be 
found when weighed in the balance of the sanctuary, we 
have no business to conjecture ; but I would sooner be 
among those who wafb him to Heaven, than of the num- 
ber of those who presume to limit His mercy who pro- 
mised heaven to a malefactor in the very arms of death. 
What passed in the mind of Nelson we cannot know. 
This is to his honour — ^he was, I believe, almost the 
first who publicly acknowledged the arm of the Almighty 
in his despatches. But it is a part of his character with 
which we have no concern. Therefore, though I, and 
and not I alone, greatly admire your beautiful verses, we 
regret that the last two should need an apology, and 
that the lyre of Poetry should recall to memory what we 
would consign to the silence in which he now reposes. 

As my letter has been delayed till this time, 

you may perhaps expect a line or two concerning Lord 
Nelson's funeral. With respect to the aquatic proces- 
sion, many were disappointed; but as I had never 
witnessed anything of the kind before, I was very much 
gratified. The day was beautiful. Had the occasion been 
of a less solemn nature, and more music, it would have 
been delightful. On Thursday, carriages were in motion 
by five in the morning ; streets crowded by six ; and the 
houses in the streets through which the procession was 
to pass (which were fitted up for the occasion, and the 
seats in some sold for £1 Is, each) mostly filled by 
seven. The particulars you have, doubtless, seen in the 



JUVENILE C0RM8P0NDENCE. SB 

paper. The sight of the colcnirB of the " Victory/' corered 
with blood and full of shot-holes ; of the old Greenwich 
Bensicmers, limping along in black cloaks; and of the 
crew of the ** Victory,'* in black, who, though sailors, 
himg down their heads and appeared real mourners ; the 
muffled roU of the drums at intervals, and solemn sound 
of the trumpets, were really very impressive. There was 
too little music ; but one of the bands played the Portu- 
guese Hymn with fine effect as it passed. The shrieks 
of the bagpipes, belonging to the Highland regiment 
who were with Nelson in Egypt, and preceded the pro- 
cession, were really lamentable. The hearse was elegant, 
without being showy. The long train of gentlemen's 
caamages, and the breaks and stoppages which unfortu- 
nately happened, lessened the effect which was evidently 
made. There were a few accidents, but they only took 
place among a numerous collection, from the adjacent 
pftrts, of rioters and pickpockets, whom they were obliged 
to qnell by Horse Ghnards, and sometimes to charge with 
bayonets and drawn swords ; but, upon the whole, great 
order prevailed. 

To the same correspondent he describes the impres- 
sion made on his mind by Montgomery's poems ; and, 
subsequently, by those of Professor Smyth. 

n. . , . You will, of course, look into Mont- 
gomery's Poems. Take special notice of " Hannah," the 
last verse of which is masterly. " Ocean," geiierally 
reckoned his ehefd^auvre. " The Daisy" I like ; whether 
it will attract you, I can't say. I thiok it is character- 
istic of its subject. The " Battle of Alexandria " is 
sublime. What says Martin to it ? The " Joy of 
Grief," when it appeared in the Poetical BegUter, was 

n 



34 EARLY LIFE. 

the first poem signed Aliffiiis that arrested my notice. I 
have never yet felt the agony of grief. I have never yet 
experienced the loss of a friend, a brother, a parent, 
or felt the charms of any Anna, but as a poet ; but there 
was a power in the lyre of AlisBus that " exquisitely 
thrilled my soul !" . . . But I am again running 
upon self— th&t dear intrusive being. If we knew him 
better, we should, perhaps, be less fond of him. (I beg 
pardon for saying " we.") 

. . . There is another subject which I caonot 
pass over, that of Smyth's Lyrics ; and yet, why should 
I, for the sake of an' unknown individual, hazard my 
reputation for correctness of taste and accuracy of dis- 
cernment ? Why should I unblushingly confess to those 
who are far better judges of their respective merits, that 
the spirit that breathes through the *^ English Lyrics" is 
more congenial with mine than that which animates the 
bosom of Aliffius — ^that the music of the lyre of the 
Cambridge Profeasor of Hirtory has more power over 
my heart, and accords more with my feelings, than that 
of the still much admired author of ''The Common Lot," 
" Hannah," and " The Joy of Qrief "? I'll teU you why I 
hazard this confession. Not in deference to J. S., or the 
Edinburgh reviewers — ^not from a lessened partiality to 
Montgomery, but out of gratitude for the pleasure re- 
ceived from Smyth. And here, as a sort of defence, I 
would observe that — ^Ist, I do not wonder that those who 
merely " skimmed" him over should overlook the peculiar 
beauties of his muse, whose characteristics are tenderness 
and delicacy ; 2ndly, that a certain degree of prejudice 
naturally attends the opening of a book of poems on 
subjects not in general striking, to which the name of 
an unheard-of simple somebody is affixed, without title, 
prefatory or annexed; 3rdly, that poems like Colir- 



JUYENILE LETTERS. 35 

per's and Smyth's, which address the hearfc, are not 
calculated to be read aloud in full critical tribunal. 
Perhaps these remarks may not, in this case, be ap« 
plicable. I am otherwise at a loss how to account 
for this mortifying diversity of taste between Miss 
Tajlor and Josiah Gonder. I shall therefore dismiss 
the subject. 

There was a certain annual publication, entitled the 
JUmor'a Fachet-hooh, which formed the centre of a little 
world of poetical activity and interest, and in whose 
pages the initials J. C. B. (Josiah Gonder, Bucklersbury) 
are of frequent occurrence. In reference to some verses 
which he had contributed, he writes : — 

m. I don't recollect anything that needs altera- 
tion, unless it be some slovenly lines, which I should 
thank you very much to correct. I am much obliged, I 
assure you, for your remarks, and should be more so if 
you would take the trouble of pointing out those pieces 
which are most objectionable on this ground. I am in 
part conscious of this, but ofben remain ignorant of the 
defect till I hear them read by some one that misplaces 
the accents, murders the cadences, and puts my poetical 
feelings to exquisite torture. I enclose my *' Sun ;" the 
'^ Moon" is at Gamberwell ; it shall follow. Be so good 
as to look over them, as I think of sending them to 
Dr. A. His attention to me and to my muse has given 
birth to a feeling . new to me — ^the anxiety of an author 
that he does not disgrace himself, nor forfeit commenda- 
tion which he is half conscious of not wholly deserving. 
.... I have some thoughts of sending, in the first place, 
the song last written, " How bright the sun's declining 
rays," etc. My father thinks it to be one of the best of 
my productions. Also that founded on Montgomery's 



36 EARLT LITE. 

Btorj of" Hannah,*' or rather suggested by it. On these 
your opinion and remarks will be very acceptable. 

Litotarinin, June 9, 1806. 

lY. DsAB Ladies, — ^A leisure quarter of an hour 
has sent me up into my workshop, and the sight of my 
inkstand reminds me of Colchester ; and though I have 
been rather loquacious of late, having some business to 
transact, I shall, without further apology, proceed there- 
unto. 

A packet of communications for the Minor^s Pocket" 
hook will accompany this ; among which are three enig- 
mas by your humble servant, which are to serve for 
my quota. The pigeon verses may, if you like, go into 
the original poetry. Mr. Suttaby desires me to mention, 
that anything you may have to spare he will be very 
glad of for other pocket-books, which have not such a 
reputation to support. 

. . . Herewith I send you the Green Book. When 
you come to any unworthy piece, be so good as recol- 
lect that I have therein inserted everything. The neces- 
sity of selection, both in justice to myself oud in kindness 
to my readers, would have prevented my lending the 
volume in a general way. I request you, in return, will 
exercise all your criticismatical faculties upon its con- 
tents. Do not be afraid of making too many pencil- 
marks. I need not say how much obliged I shall be by 
any remarks from Dr. Mackintosh 

Miss Jane mentions the Exhibition. I have been 
twice; not because I could afford it, but because the 
first time I came away without seeing or knowing any- 
thing about Mrs. Orant ! I ! She is indeed placed about 
even with your knee, so that I do not wonder at my 
overlooking it She is handsomer than I was led to 



. UTTEBS. 87 

expect, and there is all the characteristio Bweetness and 
refinement in her old features which breathe through her 
letters. It is only a small drawing. '' Who is that P'* 
said a young lady by-standing. " Only a Mrs. Grant of 
Laggan," was the reply. I should like you much to see 
Southey's miniature. H. discovered it by its likeness to 
Neville White. In the catalogue of the Exhibition, 
herewith sent, I have marked those which struck me 
most. Daniel's Eastern landscapes are always admirable. 
Woodforde is with me a favourite ; he has what I think 
the best of all, viz., Scott's Minstrel. West's picture I 
like very much. Westall's is spoken variously of. But 
my paper and your patience fSEuling, I hasten to subscribe 
myself yours dutifully, 

JOSIAH GOKDXB. 

Y. ... I am hardly yet awake from a most delect- 
able dream. July 20, I began '' Thaddeus of Warsaw," 
voL i. ; and July 23, I finished " Thaddeus of Warsaw," 
vol. iv. It was indeed a treat ; and the impression left 
on my mind was not that of a novel, but that of having 
known and been in company with Sobieski, the Falatinei 
etc. I am actually in love (don't say anything) with 
'tSJBorj Beaufort. When you see her next, you may tell 
her so ; and poor Lady Tinemouth, and Mrs. Bobson too ! 
Bless them alL The delineation of character is so mas- 
terly, the fiEible is so natural and interesting, the descrip- 
tions so weU drawn, and the sentiments so just and there- 
fore beautiM, that I quite long to see the authoress. 

I am now about to enter upon Miss Hamilton's 
" Cottagers of Glenbumie," out loud after supper ; but I 
don't intend to read another novel for I can't teU how 
long. Only, in French, I am reading " Gril Bias." I con- 
tinue, on t^e whole, to persevere in getting up earlier in 



38 EiALT LIFE. 

the morning. I this morning read half through ^ Castle 
Backrent" before breakfast ; but — ^huah ! that was in bed* 
This is not a specimen. By seven and half-after seven 
I have usually been (of late) in my study ; but what 
with the weather and a bilious attack^ I have not felt 
quite the thing for a few days past. 

YI. If the receiver is as bad as the thief, you are 
actionable if you make use of the enclosed riddlemerees, 
since they have been stolen from sleep, from Greek, and 
from a third gentleman I met on the king's highway, of 
the name of Business. On the latter, indeed, I did not 
levy much, and the guilt of it all rests on you. To hear 
that the poor dear Pocket-book (my first love!) was 
starving was too much, and thus I am not the first poor 
man driven by the distress of his family to acts of dis- 
honesty. 

"Well, to proceed. Tour note arrived on Thursday. 
Now, Monday being the last of the month, here was 
abundance of time for a man of my engagements to 
manufacture two or three score of rhymes. An enig- 
matical solution, indeed, was quite out of the question, 
not only because it takes twice as much stuff and thrice 
as much labour, but because I did not know the solution* 
Thursday night produced, after eleven o'clock, eight lines, 
squeezed like drops out of a wrung lemon, and four of 
which were blotted out in the morning. Saturday being 
completely occupied, Sunday not being in general de* 
voted to such studies, and Monday the last of the month, 
all the work devolved upon poor Friday and me Bobia- 
son Crusoe. However, I send you two enigmas and 

three charades And pray, Mr. Isaac, what is the 

reason that your pride cannot come down to the poor 
roof of a podLet-book; but that, on pretence of taking a 



Cbitigal tortures. 39 

sketch of the place, you leave ns to go and help the poor 
women on with their spinning ? the pride of you 
artists! 

The following lively and amusing picture of a visit to 
an editor's den, on behalf of his fair and aggrieved cor- 
respondent, is suggestive of the scenes amidst which the 
writer was preparing to occupy the editorial chair him- 
self. It will touch a sympathetic chord in the heart of 
any aspiring and indignant author not yet emerged from 
his teens and his pseudonyms : — 

BucUenbniy, September 9. 
Vn. My poor dear Sister in sorrow and rhyme, — • 
I yesterday afternoon went up to Hatton Garden on the 
melancholy embassy which your letter enjoined. C. T., 
junior, was in the shop, and on my entrance, after the 
customary salutations, began with, " I fear certain odea 
are printed not quite in the state that — ^* Here I, with 
broken voice, stopped him short. '^ That is done," said I4 
'* and what can't be cured, etc., as the old proverb says. 
I am only come now to prevent another murder." I then 
detailed my commission, informing him that I (of course) 
had written down to Colchester a narrative of these 
bloody proceedings, and repeated to him, as near as I 
could, your answer thereunto. ** No corrections ! " ex- 
claimed the young editor of the Beeordg, "that, I am sure» 
will never do." I then begged a sight of the piece. Here 
his sage fisither entered, to whom Charles, seeing perhaps 
the conflict of my feelings, briefly mentioned my busi- 
ness. Upon this the old gentleman threw his head on 
one shoulder, and burstiDg out into a peculiar species of 
critical and literary laugh, began an oratorical flourish. 
" He had no notion" — "And these young authors" — ^**And 



40 EJLBLT LIFE. 

this polite age,*^ etc. I said little, but renewed my reqtiest 
for a sight of your verses. I was ushered up stairs, where 
a paper was put into my hands, which I could hardly read 
for corrections. Two or three only I can at present call 
to mind. "Autumn rustles by in all his golden panoply." 
There Mr. T. remarked that autumn does not rustle more 
than summer ; that if it was rustling by it could not be 
approaching ; and, lastly, that you did not mean panoply, 
for that panoply signified complete armour. " It signifies 
armour," said I. " Nay," quoth he, "it is complete armour. 

Fan, you know, aU, universal; oply^vA ;" and so he went 

on displaying his Greek. Another ofiending line was, 
" Probing the lacerated vein." " Now," quoth he, " you do 
not probe a vein, you probe a wound ; but you only probe 
to heal." Here, perhaps, he was right ; but what did he 
substitute? As near as I can recollect^ it was — ^"Will 
every pong recall again ;" that is, " a spear recalling ;" 
beautiful prosopopoeia ! And " recalling again," too ; that 
is, calling again, again. Admirable critic! "Fragile 
flower," likewise, was strongly objected to, and was sup- 
planted by a word very descriptive of the criticism, 
''feehle flower." I stood up for " fragile.' « Well," said 
the Dr., " I'll turn to a Latin dictionary. It is, you 
know, a Latin word. China is fragile, easily broken ; 

but a flower " I saw it was useless to say anything 

more, so I proceeded to petition that a proof might be 
sent to Colchester. " That was impossible ; it was de- 
signed for the October number, and there would not be 
time." " Better delay its insertion till November, then." 
Well, at last I got a sort of promise that, if a proof could 
not be had, the corrected copy should be sent do¥m for 
your inspection ; and having accomplished this, I made 
my bow and departed, inwardly soliloquising. I just 
tlurew a few words at Charles, as I passed through the 



MENTAL M)UCATIOX. 41 

shop, who told me, when I aaked him whether his creed 
waa with mine or his father's, that he had two, a Latin 
and an English, a political and a literary one : and so we 
parted. And now I can do nothing but exhort you to 
the exercise of the Christian virtues, and to beware of 
editors. Before I conclude, from what I could see of 
your yerses, I like them exceedingly. Grandmamma 
sends her love, and has been much concerned to hear of 
Isaac's illness. I remain, yours, in tender sympathy, 

"JOSIAH CONDEE."* 

The foregoing extracts, with some others which will 
be given from his correspondence at this period, suffici- 
ently show that whatever disadyantage the writer suffered 
from the early termination of his school studies, and his 
confinement to the ungenial drudgery of business, his posi- 
tion was not altogether unfavourable for literary culture. 
He lacked the inestimable advantages which a university 
course would have supplied, with its masculine discipline, 
wholesome emulation, and quiet thoughtful solitude. But 
his business itself brought him into constant contact with 

* Here fbUowefli, in the origixia], a quaint and aTmiwng jeu 
d^etprU, in the shape of a fragment of a ballad : "A new *anff, and 
a true sonff, etUUled The Poe^s Tragedy^* The giant of criticism is 
depicted, seated in his castle^ " high on a throne of self-conceit." 

** Stood by a wight in solemn guise, 

With spectacles and band, 
TTight Fedantiy ; and near him sat, 

With hatchet in his hasd, 
Old DuUness ....'* 

The cruel treatment to which the tender ofibpring of the poets 
were subjected is then described; from which, when they escaped 
-with bare hie, their unhappy parents could no longer recognise them, 
'* but said their sons were dead." 



42 EABLT LIFE. 

m 

literature and literary men. He waa happy, too, in hav- 
ing a circle of frienda all fond of literature, and e8peci<« 
ally of poetry, and with some of whom authorship waa a 
profession. Friendly admiration and animated mutual 
criticism stimulated him to the laborious improvement 
of the powers which he waa conscious of possessing. The 
ambition of authorship waa roused, and skill and facility 
in composition and criticism gradually acquired. And 
thus it happened that he escaped the fate, or the good 
fortune (whichever the reader is pleased to consider it), 
of many a youth, who at the age of eighteen has felt 
perhaps quite as strong a passion and vocation for litera- 
ture, but, yielding to the influence of unsympathising 
friends and the claims of business, has consoled himself 
with the acqiiisition of actual cash, for the loss of pos* 
sible and prospective fame. " Poetry," some of his friends 
said, ^' waa his bane." And so, no doubt, it waa, if the 
great end of life be to "get on in the world," and a 
balance at a banker's be better gain than the immaterial 
wealth, and triumphs neither to be reckoned, weighed, 
nor measured, won in the world of thought. Still, he does 
not appear to have devoted any large amount of time to 
literary pursuits. His Sabbaths were always kept sacred. 
Fragments of busy days and comers of careful weeks 
were all that he could secure for his beloved studies. 
Yet these moments of study and composition, and not 
the hours of business, were shaping his character and 
future life. So true is it, that not what we are employed 
in, but what we love, both shows and makes us what we 
are. The following extract shows that the writer waa 
conscious of the growth of these irrepressible tendencies 
in hia own mind ; and also, that among other studies the 
study of his own heart was not overlooked : — 



A YOUNG AUTH0E*8 SENSITIVENESS. 4d 

Norember 9, 1806. 

VUI. This afternoon brought me jour welcome 
packet, and as I have only run over your letter twice, I 
intend merely to notice, in a cursory manner, a few of 
its contents, while the impression is yet warm on my 
mind. In the first place, my green book; I am dis- 
appointed at finding its margin quite free firam pencil- 
marks, upon which valuable accession I had also lately 
counted. No, not one critical query or asterisk ! Not 
one Mendly dele; and worse, not one remark on one of 
the poems to inform ibe which pleased and which did not, 
or to enable me to judge of their comparative merit, or 
to make any corrections ; and this after having passed 
through the hands of two poets, an artist, and a 
doctor! .... 

2ndly, As to your ode. You are one of a thousand 
to take our remarks so good-naturedly. It was only my 
conscience, I dare say, that made me feel apprehensive 
you would not. But, yes, I will tell you another reason; 
and here I am going to be serious. There is a certain 
fisuling known by the name of Vanity, which, I under- 
stand, is the too general attendant of youth when, eman- 
cipated from scholastic shackles, he is looking forward to 
the period when he shall be a man ; and it is said that 
this weed is particularly luxuriant by the side of the 
waters of Helicon. And there is another passion which 
is too oft;en the bosom friend of the poet, yclept Jealousy. 
Now, however conscious I may be (for I am both young 
and a poet by name) that I am not exempt from either 
of these vices, I am yet soHcitous, as far as I can, both 
to check and to conceal them. I am difBident of myself, 
lest I should appear to be actuated by motives which I 
abhor and disown. To come to the point, I was only 
fearful lest the way in which I criticised your poem 



4i EAULT LIFE. 

should seem to savour of puerile yamty, or a rival's 
jealousy; that, exalted in my own estimation, by an 
overrated opinion of my powers, or the soul*seducing 
praii^B which friendBhip or poUtenew is often layishing 
upon me, you might think I looked down upon your 
production, and was pleased to show my critical sagacity. 
I am happy to found a hope on your letters that my 
apprehensions were groundless; and I have therefore 
only to entreat, that if ever you should discover in me 
any approaches to this character, you will assert the pre- 
rogative of friendship, and fulfil the duty of (may I say) 
a fellow-Christian, in pointing it out to me. I will not 
assert a modesty which I do not possess, or an indifference 
to fiune which I cannot feel. When first I courted the 
Muse, it was in idle amusement ; but the passion has 
strengthened — ^I have gone too far to recede. I have 
published proofs of my attachment, and am her lover 
professed. And now I find I have some character to 
support. Fame invites me on. But as I ascend the hill, 
the path grows steeper, though the bursting prospecta 
well repay the toil. At first I heedless wandered on ; 
now I must climb. I own, then, I aspire to the charac- 
ter of a poet ; but, believe me, I am still more anxious to 
sustain and deserve that of a friend, and your friend too. 
But there is a step higher — ^the friend of Gk>d. O may 
my ambition be more directed to this great end ! These 
reflections are irrelevant, but I think you will excuse them. 
But to return. You '^ would rather thank my fidelity 
than my politeness." Well, I can assure you, it was not 
politeness which dictated our few remarks of a compli- 
mentary nature. The opinion I have always demonstrated 
of your poema was never feigned, and is not altered. 
Could my Muse but ensure an existence coeval with the 
« Original Poems," she would not comphiin. • . . 



CRITICISM UXD POETRY. 45 

I 'boasted tHafc no piece of mine had undergone so 
few alterationB as '' Eaney.'* Alas ! Montgomery taught 
me that excellence was only to be attained by laborious 
correction and study. He almost discouraged me by 
some of his minute and keen criticisms. How much bad 
poetry would have been saved, if persons could have 
thought their yersea capable of improvement, or had had 
some judicious friend at their elbow to point out their 
deficiencies. Montgomery showed me several incorrect 
lines in " Silence," and has improved my " Fragment." I 
beg you to believe that I can fully sympathise with you 
in the pain and drudgery of revision ; and while you may 
expect me to be less disposed to tolerate in you anything 
short of the excellence you possess, I shall with increas- 
ing tenderness respect the feelings and love the offspring 
of the poet. 

An earlier letter, to another correspondent, thus 
playMly confesses the drawbacks in the way of a too 
serious devotion to poetry : — 

TX. So you really think it was only by my ^goodfor^ 
tone," more by hick than by wit, that my ode got admis^ 
skn into the AthefM&wm ? Very pretty ! If you were 
not my cousin, I dont know whether I should readily 
pardon such an affront to my Muse. Disrespect to her 
ladyship I cannot but consider as disrespect to myself. 
" I've courted her mickle and lang ;" and entertain the 
same afifection for her as if we were real man and wife, 
and she bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. Whe- 
ther we shall ever marry at last, I cannot tell. She has 
many virtues and accomplishments, sings sweetly, is a 
delightful companion, and, I dare say, she would be a 
good nurse. But, then, she has no fortune. Her parents 
are poor. She is no housewife. She hates a kitchen. 



46 EARLY LIFE. 

She can't cook^ nor bake, nor brew, nor work with her 
needle ; though she can amuse children, and is quite a fa- 
vourite in the nursery. But, again, I am sadly afraid she 
would never get through the marriage service. " Wilt thou 
ohetf him, and serve him — ^love, honour, and keep him in 
sickness and in health — and, forsaking all others, keep 
only to him so long aa he lives P" " No," quoth she. 

After one of those country visits, which afforded a 
rare and precious relief to the monotony of his citizen 

life, he says, '^ I found my lyre again at G . Some 

kind spirit dropped it in Isaac's loft, and sent me down 
laughing with an ode to cheerfulness. With this, I have 
concluded my brown book. Yea, verily, it is fiill. And 
now I have sent Pegasus to graze, and laid my lyre 
under the ledger." 

Interesting light is thrown on the direction and 
extent of his studies during these years, by some brief 
entries in his pocket-books. In his fourteenth year, after 
he left school, we find him beginning the ./Rneid, and 
reading with some perseverance. These self-appointed 
studies, however, were subject to serious interruptions, 
as may be gathered from an entry in the following 
February : — " Fifty-three lines of Virgil ; Ist time for 2 
mo's." In the year in which he ventured to send his 
"Withered Oak" to Dr. Aikin, his pocket-book ex- 
hibits the following " Journal of Books " : — 

" 1807. Jan. — Finished vol. iv. * Boswell's Johnson.' 
Feb, 16-19.—' Scott's Lay of Last Minstrel.' About Feb. 
9th. — ^Began reading in the morning vol. i. * Home on 
the Psalms.' 23.— Begun * Gellert's Life.' Apnl 22-9. 
— * Wilberforce's Address.' 20. — ^Begun ^Adolphus's 
France,' vol. i. 26. — Finished 'Buck on Experience.' 
May 3. — Finished 'Foster's Last Essay.' 8. — Begun 



A tear's reading. 47 

* Mannonters Life,* vol. i. 24. — ^Finished * Pleasures of 
EeUgion.' Jtme 7.— Begun ' Temple of Truth.' 10.— 
Fmished 'Marmontel' vol. iy. 24. — Eead ' Grahome's 
Sabbath.' 18. — ^Begun 'Mickle's Lusiad' vol. i. July 6. 
— ^Finished ditto, vol. iii. 16-19. — ^Bead * Letters of 
ScsBvola.' 15-19. — ^Bead 'Obsolete Ideas.' August 2. 
— ^Begun Hall's Works. 11. — ^Finished ' Home,' vol. i. 
12. — ^Begun 'Letters from the Mountains' (aloud). 
*De Salvo's Travels.' 15. — Finished ' Adolphus's 
France,' vol. ii. 16. — ^Begun * Life of Bochester.' 23. 
—Finished ditto, 24.— Finished 'Epics of Ton.' 22. 
— ^Begun 'Froissart,' vol. i. 16. — Begun 'Calmet's 
Dictionary,' vol. i. Sept, 20. — ^Begun * Price's Disser- 
tations.' Oct. 25. — ^Bead ' Britain Independent of Com- 
merce.' 18. — ^Begun ' Henry's Christian Communicant.' 
2^ov, 21-30.— Bead ' Sir B. C. Hoare's Tour.' Dec, 6. 
— ^Finished 'Price's Dissertations.' 20. — ^Begun 'Ed- 
wards on Beligious Affections.' 24. — ^Finished ' Frois- 
sart's Chronicles,' vol. xii. 27. — ^Begun * Scott's Force 
of Truth,' 26.— Begun 'Memoirs of Cond^.' 81. 
— ^Finished 'Letters from the Mountains,' 3rd vol. 
(aloud)," 

In the following year (his nineteenth), the list of 
books "finished" includes "Scott's Force of Truth," 
"Walter Scott's Marmion," "Home on the Psahns," 
"Introduction to Literary History of 14th and 15th 
Centuries," " Fox's History," " Newton's Life," " Gil 
Blaa," " Thaddeus of Warsaw," " Castle Backrent," 
" Cottagers of Glenbumie," " Milton's Poetical Works," 
" Denham's Poems," " Pack's Poems," "View of Anti- 
quity," " Crabbe's Poems," " Bennet on Man," " Waller's 
Poems," " Winter's Life," " Hutchinson's Life," " Joan 
of Arc," " Edwards on Beligious Affections," " Dod- 



48 EARLT LIFE. 

dridge's Hannony," " Zoucb's Sir P. Sidney," "Elizft- 
beth," " Orion's Life of Doddridge," and two books of 
" Ovid's Metamorpboses ;" besides a number of otbers be- 
gun, among wbicb are " Butler's Analogy,'* " Spenser's 
Faerie Queen," " Frideaux's Connection." 

That bis pen was not idle is attested by tbe follow- 
ing list of compositions, mostly in verse, during tbe same 
year, wbicb is beaded, " Journal of Scribhle-ations** A 
note at tbe end states tbat tbose marked witb an asterisk 
bad " appeared in print in tbe Athenaum, Idtermry Pernor 
rama, Mvmigelical Magazine, Minor's Poeket-book^ and 
' Eemains of Henry Kirke Wbite.' " 

Jawuar^ For Jantuiry 6th, Khymes. 

Yenes to Uncle and Aunt. 

Fehruary Answer to a Talentine. 

*Ode to Forgetfulnesfl. 
•*< But art thou thus indeed alone P" 
March ....... For March 19th. 

Gumption, part 2. 

" Yet if the soft oomplaining itring." 
April To Susette. 

On the Misapplication of Scripture. 
Jfcuf ^Fragment: Morning and Eyening. 

The Snowdrop. 

Fancy. 

•Enigma, ''Amu:^ 
•Enigma, « IVwipfo." 

The Snowdrop transformed into a Myrtle. 
•TuM •Enigma, *'Faper.** 

Hymn. 

Enigma, "Bmlir 

To J. B. C. in his Glen. 

JWy •To Duty. 

Anffutt Translation of Musculus's Soliloquy. 

* Give me a harp.** 

"A feeble hand." 

<*Ahl say, was the lyre." 



ASPISATIONS AFTER FAME. 49 

September, October. .SOenoe. 

September '* And when within hiB castle gate." 

AMffutt The Frenzied SybiL* 

September, October. .Thoughts on JMd. 

August, September . ." Welcome) sweet eve of peace." 

October Letter to Editor of "EyangelicaL" 

Ifovember *Beview of GKlpin. 

December Praise. 

H ^*s Commission (yeraes to his sister). 

" Vefl your bright heads." 

A few years later he wrote, in reference to his early 
studies and projects, " There was a period when, with all 
the ambition of eighteen, I aspired to the fame of a 
poet, and I once entertained the hope of producing a 
work, that might more worthily repay the public for the 
favour shown to an anonymous volume, the joint produc- 
tion of a knot of youthful associates, which contains my 
earliest e&sions. But my pursuits have been deter- 
mined in other directions, and poetry has long ceased to 
be with me more than a record of feeling, and a source 
of quiet enjoyment."t 

The " anonymous volume " thus referred to, was en- 
titled "The Associate Minstrels." First published in 
1810, it reached a second edition within three years. 
The second edition contained "TA^ JReverie** — ^probably, 
of all the author's productions, the one which has attained 
the greatest popularity, and by which his name has been 
most widely known out of the circle of his own religious 
communion. It was suggested by a work on the state 
of separate spirits, entitled, " Olctm Saneshamoth" which 
appears deeply to have interested him. It was. composed 

* An error in orthography, which may be pardoned in a self- 
educated author of eighteen, sinoe Mr. D'Israeli is not ashamed of it 
on one of his title-pages. 

t Piefiioe to the " Star in the East," 1824. 

E 



50 EAELY LIFE. 

in hia twenty-second year, with an interval of several 
months (as appears from the memoranda in his pocket- 
book) between the commencement and completion. As 
it is probable that many readers are familiar with the 
second part (commencing " Oh, the hour when this ma- 
terial shall have vanished as a cloud !") who have never 
seen the first part, it is here inserted. It may fitly be 
regarded as a page of the author's private journal ; for 
his poetical compositions seem to have been the only re- 
cord, saving his letters, of the deepest feelings of his 

heart. 

** Animula yagula, blAnduLi, 
Hospes comesque corporis, 
Qiue nunc abibu in loca, 
Pallidula, rigida, nudula ? 
Nee, ut soles, dabis jocos." 

Emperor Adrian to his Soul. 

Oh, that in unfettered union, 

Spirit could with spirit blend ! 
Oh, that in unseen communion. 

Thought could hold the dirtant fiiend ! 
Who the secrets can unravel 

Of the body's mystic guest P 
Who knows how the soul may travel. 

While unconsciously we rest ? 

While in pleasing thraldom lying, 

Seal'd in slumber deep it seems. 
Far abroad it may be flying : — 

What is Sleep P and what are Dreams ? 
Earth, how narrow thy dominions. 

And how slow the body's pace ! 
Oh, to range on eagle pinions, 

Through illimitable space ! 

What is Thought P In wild suooession 

Whence proceeds the motley train P 
What first stamps the vague impression 

On the ever-aotive bnunP 



THE REYEBIE. 51 

Wliat is Thought P And whither tending 

Does the subtle phantom flee P 
Does it like a moonbeam ending 

Shine, then melt to vacancy P 

Has a strange mysterious feeling, 

Something shapelessy midefined. 
O'er thy lonely musings stealing, 

Ne'er impressed thy pensive mind, — 
As if he, whose strong resemblanoe 

Fancy at that moment drew. 
By coincident remembrance. 

Knew your thoughts, and thought of you P 

'When, at Mercy's footstool bending, 

Thou hast felt a sacred glow — 
Faith and Hope to heaven ascending. 

Love still lingering below — 
Say, has ne'er the thought.impress'd thee, 

That thy friend might feel thy prayer ? 
Or the wish at least possess'd thee. 

He could then thy feelings share? 

Who can tell? — that fervent blessing — 

Angels, did ye hear it rise ? 
Do ye, thus your love expressing, 

Watch o'er human sympathies ? 
Do ye some mysterious token 

To the kindred bosom bear. 
And, to what the heart has spoken. 

Wake a chord responsive there ? 

Laws, perhaps, unknown but certain. 

Kindred spirits may control : 
But what hand can lift the curtain. 

And reveal the awful soul ? 
Dimly through life's vapours seeing, 

Who but longs for light to break ? 
Oh, this feverish dream of being ! 

When, my friend, shall we awake ? 



52 EARLT LIFE. 

** Yes, the hour, the hour is hartixig, 

Spirit ghaU with spirit blend. 
Fast mortality is wasting : 

Then the secret all shall end. 
Let, then, thought hold sweet communion, 

Let us breathe the mutual prajer. 
Till in heayen's eternal union — 

Oh, my friend, to meet thee there !** 

The plan of " The Associate Minstrels" waa projected 
in a long country ramble among the same scenes which 
had suggested " The Withered Oak." The correspond- 
ence of these years shows how much interest, hope, and 
labour centred in this little volume ; and how long, to 
use the words of one of the surviving contributors to its 
pages, "it filled and brightened their horizon." The 
minstrels, and other members of that larger circle of 
closely attached friends of which they formed a segment, 
were known among themselves by the names of certain 
&vourite flowers. Josiah Conder's favourite emblem 
was the myrtle, and many of his letters to his youthful 
friends are signed " Myrtus." It waa therefore proposed 
to call their joint production " The "Wreath ;" but Mont- 
gomery (to whom the young poets dedicated their volume) 
inexorably condemned this title aa hackneyed ; and the 
editor's ingenuity waa taxed to suggest a list of new 
ones, of which "The Associate Minstrels" waa deemed 
best and most appropriate. Not without fear and trem- 
bling did the Httle barque at last get launched, and the 
minstrel company put out to sea.* 

X. for the reviews ! When do you send to Miss 

* The oontributon (whose pieces are distinguished by initials) 
were Misses Anne and Jane Tkylor, Miss Elisa Thomas, Mr. Condo* 
teiMT, the BflY. I. Tkylor, J. 0. Stnitt, and Joaiah Ckmder. 



THE ASSOCUTE MINSTRELS. ' 53 

Edge^oith P 1 meet with nothing as yet but encourage- 
ment. Mr. Sayill is really a man of sound judgment and 
fine taste, is he not ? Mr. Eogers's tacit testimony I told 
you of. Eesides which, I could only tell you of the kind 
expressions of my friends. I long to hear from Southey, 
and Montgoidery, and Aildn, and Dr. Mackintosh. Oh ! 
I am as ravenous for praise as ever, because I do not 
stand alone. Hook round on my famishing sister min- 
strels, whom I have tempted to embark with me ; and if 
but a squall arise, or the proyisions threaten to fail, or 
there be danger of being becalmed, I feel all the brother 
and the editor in my heart. Poor E. gets sadly pitied 
and teased by her sister and Plato. '' We think the 
pieces signed B. rather poor :" this is the review they 
threaten her with. " "Well, I shall not mind, any further 
than my pieces may injure the work." Ah ! my magnani- 
mous friend, I am glad I have no apprehension you will 
be put to the trial. Yet — oh dear ! , 

I am growing a Methodist. I actually went to hear 
Dr. Collyer at Surrey Chapel, and very much pleased I 
was. He was simple and striking. And then the next 
morning, what a treat at the Tract Society ! I cannot 
detail to you the intelligence, the letters, the anecdotes, 
the addresses, which conspired to render the meeting 
most solemnly delightful and impressive. I should think 
above SOO at least were present. I really felt it. The 
present times, said Dr. Smith — but I cannot give his im- 
pressive language— «re such as can be paralleled by no 
age, by no era in the history of the world, unless by that 
time when the apostles were assembled in an upper room of 
the temple,* and the Spirit of God was poured out upon 
them. And it is so. The signs of the times are awfiil, but 

* Whether this inaccuracy is the speakei's or the writei^s, does 
not appear. 



54 £AELY LIFE. 

encouraging. &reat things we may live to see; and 
from contemplating the factious tumults of demagogues, 
the infatuation and imbecility of ministers, the profligacy, 
the venality, and the seditious violence of the opponent 
parties, wlich threaten to revive the times of anarchy in 
our oppressed coimtry, how consoling to soar above 
the petty squabbles of the day, and contemplate the 
great designs of Providence gradually unfolding, and be- 
hold the first dawning promise of that universal day, 
when the Light of the dentiles and the Star of Jacob 
shall illumine the whole world ; and, to use the words of 
Dr. CoUyer, ^' the Hindoo shall bring a broken heart in- 
stead of a bleeding body to the altar of Jesus ; and the 
Persian bow to a more glorious Sun than ever irradiated 
the visible firmament." But this is not a subject which 
I feel competent to touch on. It is almost too vast 
for comprehension. Farewell. 

The following extract from an earlier letter (Sept., 
1808), affords an interesting glimpse of the state of 
religious parties. It refers to the Bemains, then re- 
cently published, of Henry Kirke White, in whose 
character and writings it was natural tha1> one who had 
so many points of sympathy with him should feel deeply 
interested. 

XI. Your ideas and mine quite harmonize on this 
subject ; but while I approve of your selection, I must 
be permitted, as in a former case, to add to it, by naming 
as of merit not inferior — '' To Disappointment," ^ The 
Early Primrose," Sonnet 8 and 9 of First Series, '' The 
Lullaby," " To a Friend in Affliction," and " Written in 
the Prospect of Death," and almost all the later Sonnets. 
But where shall I stop ? And why do you say "a few 



STATE OF HETY., 55 

lines" only, in /'Yes, my stray steps have wandered" ? 
But, after all, it is not as the poet that he is alone, or 
even most interesting. I do believe I felt for once 
humble in perusing his life. Hils memoirs have been 
made useful. A gentleman told me, the other day, that 
he knevr an ^Utance in a young man, since entered at 
college with a view to the ministry. By the way, the 
increase of evangelical clergymen within these five years 
past has been astomshiog as well as pleasing. Bev. 
Samuel Burder, you may perhaps have heard, has con- 
formed. He told me, on the authority of (I beHeve) a 
dignitary of the Establishment, that about five years ago 
they could not reckon above 200 who were decidedly 
evangelical, and now they are upwards of 1200. The 
Bishop of Gloucester has lately ordained seven young 
men who were well known to be decided Methodists ; 
and he had previously provided them curacies in his own 
diocese. Bishop Durham, by whom S. B. is, or is to be, 
ordained, was very particular in inquiring, at their dif- 
ferent interviews, his sentiments, and expressed his 
cordial approbation on discovering them to be Calvinistic. 
I heard last Sunday an excellent sermon firom the Tutor 
of Lincoln College, Oxford, which is, as well as Edmund 
Hall, Methodistic. Are not these good tidings ? 

Affairs of a different nature now engross the atten- 
tion of the pubHc, namely, the surrender of Junot, Lis- 
bon, and the Bussian and Erench fleets ; but on terms 
very disgracefiil to our commander, Sir Hew Dalrymple. 
The town is quite in a ferment. What will be the issue 
of these wonderful events ? 

Li the same year in which " The Associate Minstrels" 
was published, Josiah Conder came of age. In the career 
opening before him there was little to dazzle or intoxi- 



56 EABLT LII'E. 

cate with dreams of worldly wealth and success. Already 
he had learned that life is worse than vain, unless both 
its aim and its treasure — its chief ambition, and its chief 
joy — ^be above this world, and beyond the reach of its 
uncertainties and changes. His view of life seems rather 
to have erred in being too sombre, than^ being over- 
coloured. An error on the safe side! For is it not 
better that our joys should take us by surprise, than our 
sorrows ? 

What progress his inward spiritual life had made, 
during these years ; how truly he had learned to sub- 
ordinate both business and taste to higher aims; and 
how far he had been preparing, by a living faith, and by 
the study of his own heart, for the heavier burdens and 
severer toils which now awaited him, will be best seen 
from a few extracts from his correspondence. These 
claim a fresh chapter for themselves. 

Meantime, this chapter may perhaps not unfitly be 
closed with a charming and lively birthday epistle, 
written to a little girl, in which the young man of one- 
and-twenty, tries to set his views of life before the child, 
whose own early years were not unshadowed by some 
clouds of sorrow. The letter accompanied the present of 
a small terrestrial globe : — 

XII. Fob Jemima's Bibthdat. 

Deo. 10, 1810. 
My deab Jemima, — Or rather our Jemima, J should 
say, for I now take pen in hand in an official capacity, 
as secretary to the illustrious house of Conder. We, 
whose names are undersigned, as a token of our unani- 
mous regard, unite in requesting Jemima Taylor's accept- 
ance of — the world. 

And now, what can you wish for more P The whole 



OF AGE. 57 

world is your own. Alas! yon see what it is — ^light, 
empty, and all outside ! What more can you wish for, 
did I say P I forget that he who conquered the world 
sighed for further conquests. There^is a sweet verse I 
sometimes repeat— 

« 'While gloiy sighs for other spheres, 
I feel that one's too wide, 
And think the home that love endears 
Worth aU the world beside.'* 

And is not my Jemima of the same opinion ? Is 
there not a little spot, which she will 'hardly be able to 
descry on this little miniature globe, but which is more to 
her than half the cities in the world P And the longer she 
lives, the more she will have the conviction forced upon 
her that the happiest, sweetest, safest spot is — ^Home. 
Oh, how good Providence has been to her in fixing her lot 
in such a home. I am sure Jemima would not wish to 
change situations with the richest child in England. I 
say England, for out of England, on what spot can envy 
fix P All is now darkness and distress. I do not know 
that in England I could find a child with greater advan- 
tages. Such parents, such brothers and sisters, and, 
I will add, so many friends too, who love you and are 
anxious for your welfare. And, my dear Jemima, o» to 
the very sorrows which extend their shadows over your 
childhood, you will one day count these amongst your 
greatest advantages. Gtod is gently teaching you by 
degrees, that the good things of this world are not the 
good things which He designs for those He loves ; that 
affliction is only a name for one of his angels; that 
what men are most earnestly pursuing. He considers as 
too insignificant to bestow, or what it is mercy to re- 
fiise* Did you ever read of a person who lost a race by^ 



58 EARLY LIFE. 

stopping for a golden apple ? What better than this is 
the world ? Life is the race, and the prize — Heaven. 

The world is my text ; and it is a text that has as 
many heads as a Hydra. Shall I go on P I will just 
observe, that on this little globe there was not room to 
delineate any but the great outlines by which the world 
is subdivided. You must refer to maps and charts for 
more minute information and more recent discoveries. 
When I publish my new system of geography, I shall 
adopt quite a different plan. In the centre, I shall place 
my native country, and make the metropolis Home. By 
the side of its walls flows the river Care, which, rising 
many miles distant, receives the influx of several petty 
streams, and loses itself in the Black Sea. ^Nearly in a 
parallel course, on the opposite side of the city, a clear 
and salubrious stream, whose waters make glad its in* 
habitants, roUs its refreshing waters. Its source is un* 
known, and its current eternal. There is a beautiful lake 
a little way out of town, on which it is delightful on a 
summer's day to make an excursion of pleasure. It is 
the Lake of Friendship, but I am told it is sometimes a 
little stormy, and that there are rocks and shallows, on 
which those have struck who have had no pilot. But 
then, beyond this, and indeed almost all round the city 
I am speaking of, you meet with a cheerless desert, which 
it is dangerous to travel ; but through which the high 
road Hes to a better kingdom. I cannot give you a very 
particular account of the country, for it is a singular fact, 
as to the country I am describing, that perpetual mists 
hang over the valleys, so that you can see little before 
you. And all beyond a certain point is undiscovered 
land. Dear me! What is become of my scheme of 
geography, that was to embrace the world P And yet I 
have described all my world ; and what use would it be 



VIEWS OF LIFE. 69 

to lead jou to those chilly regions, or fiery deserts, where 
others dwell ? To show you the world in the shape of a 
moral Mtna, (gardens covering destruction), or of an 
Iceland P There was an old geographer of great wisdom, 
who diyided the world into two great continents ; the 
one he named Vanity, and the other Vexation ; and. I 
know of no modem work that supersedes his. O, my 
dear Jemima, to drop all metaphor at once, it is 9k poor 
world. It is strange we should aU love it so : that we 
should loiter so in our pilgrimage through this wilder- 
ness, that G-od is obliged to send storms and tempests to 
quicken us in the road to heaven. Do you know what I 
mean by loving the world ? Yes, I think you do. You 
feel there is something in your heart that dares to rival 
Grod. And is it not, too, an evil world ? 

But perhaps this is rather in too gloomy a style for 
a birthday. N'o, but my dear Jemima, we do not want 
the world to make us happy. Come, let us shut it out. 
We have Mends enough to make us cheerful within. 
What shall the song be ? Shall it be of the past year, 
about its mercies and comforts ; or shall Hope take her 
harp, and sing of the Euture P Suppose, rather, that we 
talk over the Present — ^present comforts and privileges. 
And when I say the present, I do not mean to exclude 
that world which, though now unseen, is always present. 
We are never separated from an eternal state by any 
more than a moment ; and perhaps some of the inhabit- 
ants of what is called, in accommodation to us, the world 
to come are ever present with us. Certain we are, that 
that Merciful and Omniscient Being is, in whom we live 
and move and have our being. O, my dear little friend, 
may He guide you through this new year by his counsels ! 
May the Q-ood Shepherd, who died for you, carry you in 
his arms ! May you be preserved from those sins and 



60 EARLY LIFE. 

evils, at which now your little heart would shudder, but 
from which nothing but diyine grace can preserve you. 
And may you be spared many years to reward the love, 
to realize the hopes, and to fulfil the prayers of your 
tender parents, and all those in your family, and out of 
its beloved circle, who feel an interest in your welfare. 
Farewell. 



CHAPTEE II. 

COMING or AGE. 

It is not designed, in the present memoir, to enter 
deeply into the minute details and sacred recesses of 
private life and personal history. It is designed, as far 
as the editor's materials and skill may avail, to portray 
JosiAH CoNDBB (principally by extracts from what he 
has himself written) in those aspects in which the public 
is chiefly interested in hearing of him — ^as a Writer and 
as a Christian ; it may be added, as a Protestant ^N'oncon- 
formist, whose Nonconformity was always subordinate 
to his Protestantism, as his Protestantism was to his 
Christianity. 

A biography should be a picture, not an anatomical 
preparation. There are cases, no doubt, in which a 
man's life and character are so completely public 
property, and the importance is so great of rightly 
understanding and estimating his conduct and motives, 
that public welfare may demand a, post mortem examina- 
tion of the severest and minutest. But this is not com- 
monly either wise or needful. It is not thus that you 
would have your own friends treated. You would wish 
them to be seen on the printed page as their friends saw 
them in life ; not with a critical magnifying glass applied 
to every speck and blemish, nor with all the most secret 
recesses of their heart and history wide open to common 
gaze ; but robed with that comely reserve which it is the 



62 COMING OF. AGE. 

special privilege of intimate friendship to draw aside, 
and wbich, indeed, few can bear wholly to throw off 
before any eye but G-od's. 

The inward religious life, however, of any one emi- 
nent for piety and usefulness, comes under a principle of 
exception to this proper reserve. Natural as it may 
seem, at first sight, to 

'* Beckon faith and projen 
Am the most private of a man's affidn/' 

yet, in fact, they are exactly what the largest number 
can sympathise with, and are interested to hear of. 
In all other regions our tastes, pursuits, joys, loves, 
sorrows, defeats, triumphs, may be so specially our own, 
through character or circumstance, that they command a 
very narrow range of sympathy. But all real ChristiauB 
have a fellow-feeling, and belong to one family, and 
share a common life. They have a deep interest in one 
another's character, experience, and progress. The 
strife, the perils, the infirmities, the successes of their 
brethren are their own. The crown is the same which 
they hope to wear ; the goal the same which they strain, 
with eye, and foot, and panting breath, to win. They 
weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those who 
rejoice. So far as auy life is a Christian life — ^be it that of 
king or peasant, soldier or slave, the grey-haired prophet, 
or the little child who early falls asleep in his Saviour — 
so far it has a hold on what is deepest, and purest, and 
most enduring in the heart of every other pilgrim to the 
better country. It is a page of the great family history, 
to which every true child of the fiunily carries the key 
in his own heart. 

JosiAH Cokdeb's early religious history has already 
been briefly sketched in his own words. Hia piety was, 



SiXIGIOUS LIFE. 63 

under the blessing of God, the early set and timely fruit 
of those happy, influences of instruction and example) 
amidst which he grew up to manhood. It furnishes a 
commentary upon the wise and weighty words of 
Eichard Baxter, who, after referring to his own doubts, 
lest his religion was nothing but the result of education, 
adds: ''But afterwards I perceived that education is 
God*s ordinary way for the conveyance of his grace, and 
ought no more to be set in opposition to the Spirit than 
the preaching of the word ; and that it was the great mercy 
of G-od to begin with me so soon, and to prevent such 
sins as else might have been my shame and sorrow while 
I lived ; and that Bepentance is good, but Prevention 
and Innocence is better ; which though we cannot attain 
in perfection, yet the more the better." 

The following letters and extracts, although not ail 
confined to religious topics, will indicate the progress of 
their writer's religious history as youth matured into 
manhood. The first, written in his twentieth year, and 
addressed to one of his cousins, refers to his joining the 
church at Moorfields, then and for many years under 
the care of the Eev. Mr. Wall. It is only upon the 
grounds already indicated that the present ediior feels 
justified in laying before the public eye such confidential 
and sacred records of personal feeling. These pages are 
designed for those who can understand them, not for 
those who cannot. 

June 24, 1809. 

XIII. Deab , — ^As we have always more words 

than time when we meet on Sabbath Day, I am begin- 
ning on Saturday. ... I drank tea last night at 
Wine Office Court with Messrs. M. and H. It was by 
no means an unpleasant meeting. They were very 



64 COMING OF AGE. 

friendly, and, I was going to say, rational ; but you will 
understand me. The only question that at ail went 
close was, whether I knew of any particular time or 
period from which I could date a change (or something 
of that kind). But when I answered, that I hoped, 
from my infancy, I had been sensible of the privileges of 
a pious education, and experienced its advantages, they 
were pleased and satisfied. I was, indeed, much pleased 
with many things Mr. H. said ; among the rest, that the 
best test was not to be founded on feelings, but on a 
growing desire after conformity to God — ^that he had 
for a long time been fettered by the tempter with the 
fear that he had not experienced (as he said I expressed 
it) the whirlwind or the storm ; and, therefore, was not 
the subject of a real change. And he mentioned several 
anecdotes ; observed also the faithfulness of a covenant 
God, as it appeared in our family to the third and fourth 
generations ; and in his prayer, which was truly excellent 
and affectionate, you were particularly mentioned. 

I sometimes should feel disposed to introduce various 
topics, but unless we had a greater security for either 
meeting with an opportunity for a little chat together, or 
else for a regular interchange of letters, it appears 
useless, as the feeling cools, and the thought vanishes, 
before the subject has obtained a hearing. I was think- 
ing the other day, how far it is lawful or desirable to 
expect and to endeavour after what we fancy would 
ensure our temporal happiness ; and how far we might 
be permitted to apply to our present welfare and lawful 
endeavours that promise — * Delight thyself in the Lord^ 
and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart.* You 
may not understand me, nor may I be able to convey to 
you the feeling. Certain I am that true happiness 
cannot be found in anything out of the mind ; nor un* 



MISTY PRO&FECTS. 65 

mixed and permanent liappiness anywhere out of Heaven. 
But, somehow, it is difficult to make up one's mind to 
unhappiness, even on earth ; and our comfort must, in 
great measure, depend on circumstances and events. 
Mj expectations are not, at present, sanguine, nor my 
hopes ambitious ; but in looking forward on the pro- 
babilities of mj future life, .which the wisest at times 
cannot forbear to do, especiallj when clouds and dark- 
ness overcast the sky, and I £mcy I see a gleam of 
sunshine on the distant horizon — I say, at such times, 
hope raises the phantom of a modest, peaceable happi- 
ness, for which, could I secure its attainment at length, 
I would contentedly toil and sorrow for a painful ap- 
prenticeship to Time. But then, again, I say to myself, 
this can ne^ver be yours, because it would make you 
happy ; and happy you must not look to be in the 
present world. For instance, I sometimes think, that if 
by my endeavours and the blessing of Providence, I could 
annihilate the grievous burden of care which is weighing 
down perpetually my Other's health and spirits ; could I 
procure, I won't say wealth, but that comfortable com- 
petency which should set me above anxious fears and 
ceaseless drudgery; why, from such a state I cannot 
withhold the name of comparative happiness. How far, 
then, may I dare to hope for it ? But Fancy, a wild, 
daring, romantic creature as she is, sometimes makes 
what I can only call possibilities dance before me, and 
leads me to a mountain as high as Fisgah, or, at least, as 
Parnassus, and shows me a promised land which, I am 
afraid, can only be reached by crossing Jordan's flood. 
Surely, I think, if I could arrive at that point I should 
be too happy. And yet, others have attained as high. 
And then I endeavour to entertain right views of the 
tamaitory and trivial nature of earthly afflictions and 



66 COMING OF AGE. 

earthly joys ; and sometimes, in the fulness of the feeling 
(and especiallj sometimes at the throne of grace), I 
forget the world, and can almost exclaim, " There is none 
on earth that I desire in comparison with Thee, my 
Pather, who art in heaven." But I am soon called down 
from the mount, and a crowd of fSmcies, hopes, and fears 
rush upon me as I enter again into the world, and cling 
to my pride, my passions, and my affections, and almost 
usurp my heart. At such times, what a luxury would it 
be to have a Mend at hand to compare notes with ! I 
did not think of writing so much. If you do not under- 
stand or enter into these ideas, I pray you not to con- 
demn them or laugh at them altogether. 

July 23rd, 1809. 
Sunday Eyeniiig. After Supper. 

XIV. Deab Cousik, — It is not often that I take up 
my pen on this night, but some of the thoughts that 
have passed through my nund this eyening, I am un- 
willing should leave no vestige behind them ; nor do I 
know how I can better employ the closing half-hour of 
the Sabbath. 

I lament, and in part reproach myself, that our con- 
versation (particularly on these days) does not respect 
more things of the first importance, and which should be 
of the dearest moment. And I am grieved, too, to find 
how miserably dependent I am on the ever-changing 
frame of my mind; and that even now, while I am 
writing, the feeling which excited me to write is cooled, 
and the ideas with which my mind was impressed are no 
longer at my command. 

I do not know whether I am going to be interesting 
— I am going to be confidential. The sermon of thia 
afternoon was very impressive. One passage, in particu- 



SELF-EXAMINATION. 67 

lar, set my mind at work, where Mr. W., addressiiig 
himself to those who now were led to mind the things of 
the Spirit, appealed to them whether it had been always 
so. The answer which arose in my thoughts was, Yes, 
I have been always impressed, in degree, ever since I can 
remember the actings of my mind, with religious things. 
But then, I afterwards thought, how very much exposed 
am I, from this very circumstaace, to overrate my own 
attainments ; to mistake the work of education for that 
of grace, spiritual notions for feelings, and feelings for 
principles. And then I could not help confessing how 
much I still mind earthly things, and how earthly I am 
in spiritual pursuits. But the thought which my mind 
most dwelt upon this evening in my study was, the very 
inadequate ideas of the evil of sin which I feel to possess. 
I do not know what good I do in going on to disclose 
my feelings on this subject ; because, if your friendship 
excite you to endeavour to satisfy my mind on the 
subject, you may be doing me an injury. 

I find it dfficult to pursue in thought a train of 
close self-examination, or to excite in myself, by mere 
meditation, any warmth of feeling. But sometimes when 
on my knees — ^I hope I am not wrong — ^I can indulge 
my feelings. I can, while I am addressing Q-od, reason 
with my soul. It was with a train of thought, I can 
scarcely say feeling, excited by the two sermons of the 
day, that I addressed myself this evening to the Almighty. 
I felt at first at a loss how ta begin, till at length I 
roused my mind with invoking Him as the heart-searching 
God, who knew all the secret operations of my heart, and 
knew, before I uttered them, the words of my tongue. 
Among my reflections it occurred, that though I at times 
had felt displeased with myself for sin, and out of temper, 
how little I had known of David's righteous sorrow — how 



68 . COMIKO OF AGE. 

imperfect were mj ideas aa to Ghd*8 displeasure against 
sin, one drop of whose wrath was sufficient to sink me into 
endless misery ; that sorrow for sin had never cost me a 
sleepless night or an anxious day; that my sorrow, if 
real, was soon forgotten with the occasion; and that, 
perhaps, if I were stretched on the bed of languishing, a 
long array of forgotten and unrepented sins would start 
from obHvion, and overwhelm me. And for a moment I 
had some faint view of the deficiencies of my past life, 
and felt that to have been preserved from acts of out* 
ward enormity was matter indeed of thankfulness, but 
not of boasting, nor even of consolation, since I had 
never been placed in circumstances of temptation. Alas! 
in the sight of God — ^how dreadful to reflect ! — ^aU the 
sins of childhood and youth, of thought and action, sins 
confessed and unrepented, however distant, however de- 
plored, however forgotten, all stand in unfading and 
distinct enormity. His justice can never excuse, can 
never forget, can never palliate. But there is a foun- 
tain filled with blood, drawn from Immanuers veins, all- 
sufficient to wash away all our sins. How infinite the 
value of his sacrifice ! How immeasurable his love ! 
Here then, again, how disproportionate our feelings ! 
My dear cousin, I say it not from humility, real or 
feigned, but I have cause to tremt)le as well as to sorrow, 
that I do feel so little — ^that even the tearful feeling with 
which I besought Divine mercy, that I might not, after 
all, be deceived, and that I might sooner die this evening 
than grow old in forgetfulness of God, that this feeling 
should have left so little trace on my mind ; and to- 
morrow I shall return to my merchandize, and my mind 
be again engrossed with " earthly things." I fear I have 
overrated my attainments, but I repent not of any step 
I have taken ; and I was enabled, with something like 



SELF-EXAMINATION. 69 

devotional feeling, to commit mj soul and all mj con- 
cerns to Him whom we, though ainnen, may still ciJl Onr 
Eather — ^to commit to Him my cares, my temporal affiurs. 
But I dared not ask for happiness. Oh, my dear cousin, 
whom have we in heaven but GK)d P Who else consti- 
tutes heaven ? I feel sometimes sweet pleasure in the idea 

of meeting you and S , and our parents and family, 

and A and J , and E and L , in the 

world of spirits. I cannot separate this idea from that of 
heaven ; but even in this idea I feel I am earthly. It 
is the holiness of heaven, it is the presence of Gk>d, that 
I should be aspiring after ; for whom have we in heaven 
but God ? and whom, if we look round on our dearest 
Mends, on our nearest affections, whom have we on earth 
that we should desire in comparison with Him P Alas I 
whom do I habitually, though I trust not really, delight 
in and desire so little P Let me draw the gloomiest pic- 
ture — ^bid Death draw his curtain round some of the 
scenes of my enjoyment, and Poverty wither aU my 
hopes ; suppose myself deprived of friendship and peace, 
the Dglantine dead, the Bose plucked, and Myrtle faded 
— yet, what would all these afflictions be in comparison 
with eternity P What Providence designs me for, or 
prepares for me, I must leave to Him. Oh, that I could 
be more dead to the world — ^that I could live above it — 
that I could count all things but loss, so that I may win 
Christ, and be found in Him ! 

Your letter, I repeat the assurance, has done my 
heart good .... I do not know whether my prayers do 
any good to those for whom I pray. They have, how- 
ever, the effect of exciting in my own mind a more ten- 
der interest in them .... I have no doubt I share, as 
I value, your prayers. Por the present, farewell. — I 
Qndose a version of the 23rd Psalm, written principally 



70 COMING OF AGE. 

for the sake of the metre, that I may sing it to Bethesda 
tune. But it borrows some of its ideas from Laving- 
ton's sermons. Farewell. — ^Tours affectionately, 

I JOSIAH CONDEB. 

Monday morning. On reviewing what I hare 
written, I am far from being satisfied with it. I have 
not conveyed all that I exactly intended ; but I am de- 
termined to send it, because it is to you I am writing. 

Buckleraburj, July 4, 1810. 

XV. Mt Deab Feiekd, — ^What a beautiful evening, 
after a day so wet without doors, and busy within! 
I have not yet crossed the threshold, and feel quite 
muzzed. Suppose I take a walk. Shall it be to Clap- 
ham, to call on the mother and sister of Kirke White, 

at Mr. Beddome's, or shall I go and see J at the 

Porbes's ? If I thought Plato was at Battersea, and it 
was not so late, I would walk over there. But no ; I 
have altered my mind. I will sit down and write to Col- 
chester, and it shall not be a letter of business .... 
Southey's letter is, on many accounts, the most gratifying 
(to the individual, at least, to whom it is addressed) of 
any yet received. It is the friendly tribute of as fine a 
genius, and as warm a heart, as any who have honoured 
the minstrels with their praise. Shall I say the finest 
genius P I know you are unacquainted with him but as 
the author of some of his juvenile puerilities. Besides, 
it will not do for me to praise him now ; but pray read, 
in the last " Christian Observer," a very fine, and what 
is more, a just, and in every way excellent review of the 
"Lady of the Lake," and see what is said of Southey there. 
And then if, by way of contrast, you want to see how 
much a man of great mind and strong judgment can 
write in the flippant, snappish, would-be witty style of 



LITERATUEE. 71 

some young sprig of law, just manufactured into a critic, 
witli as little taste as good nature and sensibility, read 
a review of the same work in the last " Eclectic," by 

! ! Yes, the essayist. Why will he waste his 

time, and debase his powers in reviewing ? Oh ! I am 
out of patience with all the reviews ; but I must get 
clear of the ranks before I speak out .... I do not know 
whether Southey and Haley will travel together without 
quarrelling ; but the letter of the latter, if not from a 
man of the first order of genius, is that of a scholar and 
a gentleman. I assure you I prize it. Such tributes are 
very gratifying and very refreshing to one toiling through 
the arid deserts of Plutus. How for they tend to pro- 
mote vanity, I cannot judge ; for so many circumstances 
conspire to keep down the tone of my spirits, to en- 
gross, to harass, and to mortify my mind, that the anti- 
dote which they administer will, I hope, sufficiently 
counteract any such influence. But it is not such thiugs 
which pre-eminently induce vanity. They may create 
ambition and self-confidence, but they are also calcu- 
lated to humble, and surely they ought to inspire with 
gratitude. I do feel I have much to be gratefrd for, and 
I cannot help sometimes hoping I may one day or other 
be, and do something. At present, my genius is but a 
minor, serving a hard apprenticeship, during which it has 
to sacrifice its inclinations, and conform its will to the 
stem command and duU employ of its master. Never- 
theless, I have actually written a sonnet to-day. Ay, a 
sonnet — correct enough for Capel Loffib; and there's 
truth in it, if little poetry. And so here it is : — 

Two voioee are there. SVom the inmost breast, 
Its seat oracular, the one proceeds, 
Prompting the noble soul to worthy deeds, 

And rousing Fancy from inglorious rest. 



72 COMING OF AGE. 

Hie other, from abore, HesTJBn'f hig^ behest 
In still small aooents spealu, which he who heeds 
Is wise ; for sure, the path where duty leads, 

Though dark, is safe ; though rugged, yet the best. 

Nor would I, at the call of pleasure, dare 
Besist that Toioe; but rather wait resign'd. 

Perform mj daily task with duteous care. 
And quench the proud asinrings of the mind. 

Till happier days arrire, and blithe and free 

My soul shall warble songs to peace and liberty. 



I had better mention that Wordfiworth has a 8on-- 
net beginning ' Two voices are there,' but there is no 
further similarity of idea or expression. 

But I intended this letter for other themes. I am 
much concerned to hear how much your health and 
spirits appear to suffer from the repeated demanda re- 
cently made upon both. I wish circumstances would, 
permit a short interval of relaxation. The life you lead 
is very unfavourable to that vigorous health of mind 
which is produced by its regular moderate exercise, and 
which can alone inspire with cheerfulness ; and you have 
thus not only to cope with the trials of every day, and 
the anxious cares which are now assaulting you, but this 
with a mind so unstrung, that the sweet voice of hope 
awakens no vibration of joy. I wish anything that I 
could suggest had power to impart consolation. But 
this is the prerogative of *' the God of comfort." Were 
I to prescribe a cordial for a fidnting pilgrim, I know of 
no better than the 8th of Bomans. What a comprehen- 
sive, eloquent, sublime chapter is that I I am sorry that 
feelings which gave birth to the beautiful lines your note 
contained should ever recur, and yet I know — I mean, I 
have heard and read — ^how subject the most eminent 
saints have been to seaaons of similar doubt and despon- 



GHEEBFULKESS A DUTT. i 73 

dency. And doubtless, when thej are only seasons, they 
are subservient, under the Diyine blessing, to the quick- 
ening and eventuallj establishing the soul in hope. You 
have, however, no right, naj^ I question if it be not 
wholly wrong, to indulge such feelings; for, my dear 
firiend, as you cannot in judgment doubt the reality of 
the grace of which you have been made the partaker, as 
you must feel how dear to you the Gospel is, as you be- 
lieve in the truth, the mercy, and the omnipotence of 
your heavenly Father, whatever cause you have, in 
common with other Christians, for humility and contri- 
tion, still you should not suffer the tempter to abridge 
Ood of that glory which accrues from a cheerM confi- 
dence in Him, a grateful sense of what He has done, and 
a joyful though trembUng assurance of faith, that nothing 
shall separate you from the love of Gk>d ; that all things 
are yours ; that the issue of aU present troubles shall be 
good, and that He who has imparted grace will perfect 
the work of his own hands in everlasting glory. I had 
'rather not speak of myself, for then I shall be reminded 
of my incompetence, of the almost impropriety of my 
addressing you on such a subject; but I cannot help 
noticing how painfrilly, in my own experience, I feel the 
truth of what you say respecting the difference of feeling 
on Sabbath eve and Monday morning. How well Cowper . 
knew the heart, when he closed one of his beautiful poems 

thus: — 

*^ But ah! my inmost spirit cries, 
Still bind me to thy swaj ; 
Else the next cloud that rdls my skies, 
Briyes all these thoughts away." 

this chilling, distracting, harassing world! When 
in league with such traitorous hearts, no efforts of ours, 
unassisted by Divine influences, can withstand its power. 



74 COMING OF AGE. 

But let our prayer be in imisoii with His who said, " I 
pray not that Thou shouldest take them out of the world, 
but that Thou shouldest keep them firom the evil." O 
what a prayer was that which our Saviour offered ! How 
full of consolation ! All the boundless mercy, the Divine 
majesty, the condescending and mysterious love of the 
Mediator, shine through it in full glory. 

My dear friend, we ought to talk of such subjects. 
As to any natural difficult, it is soon to be conquered. 
It is only a few exertions, and the habit will be formed. 
It is thus the blessing of a spiritual mind is to be ob- 
tained. Ought I to speak thus, whose heart and mind 
are carnal ? Yes, I will. There is no hypocrisy in in- 
structing yourself through the medium of others, nor in 
adopting language which applies to your desires rather 
than to your attainments. For my own part, I find 
that I must be content that my friends be deceived in 
their estimate of my character ; and by using that humble 
language which would well comport with it, I should but 
strengthen the deception. They would then give me 
credit for what I at least possess — ^humility. This I 
remember : Q-od knows my character. Before Him let 
me humble myself in the dust ; but before men, let not 
our faces wear sadness, nor our lips be sealed; and 
among each other, let us exercise our stammering tongues 
in the language of that country to which we are all 
journeying. The Bible shall be our grammar ; and how- 
ever deficient our knowledge and imperfect our pronun- 
ciation, stiU we can understand one another. It may 
promote our mutual improvement, and will be a source 
of pure delight. Why should you be afraid to use the 
language of Canaan P We are none of us natives of that 
better country; but still, is it not the home of our 
desires? Ah! we wish it were, in one sense; but I 



CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP. 75 

mean, is not the deliberate determination of our bouIs 
for heaven, whatever be our wanderings P I hope I may 
rejoice in this, while with fear and trembling I would 
work out my salvation, that G-od has begun to work in 
me to toill^ and in Him I trust that he will also work in 
me to do, of his good pleasure. But my letter is ex- 
ceeding aU bounds. One word more, about E . Cir- 
cumstances vnll put it in your power to benefit her. Who 
is there, how poor soever his ability and small his attain- 
ments — ^and yours it would be ingratitude in you to 
consider in this light — ^who is there but is capable of 
benefiting in some measure a fellow-creature, much more 
a fellow- Christian ? And when a child, all impressi- 
bility, that looks up to you with love and deference, is 
thus lent you as a companion, can you say that nothing 
is in your power ? You may do good both to her and 
yourself. 

. . . Oh ! it is hard thus quietly to wait ; but be 
of good courage. Do not, I beseech you, yield to melan 
choly. I can counsel others, for here I am experienced. 
Do not say, I do well to be sad. " Seize present joys 
while rushing by" — the pleasures which Fame and Fancy 
scatter, the cordials which Friendship and Hope admi- 
nister, the daily comforts designed for your refreshment. 
" Only be strong and of a good' courage," for Gk)d shall 
bring you into a land of peace. Eejoice in your talents, 
your reputation, your family, your friends, your privi- 
leges, your promises, and your hopes. Eejoice in G-od. 
He is your God for ever and ever. My dear friend, 
farewell. 

JOSIAH CONDEB. 

In prospect of the annual family gathering at Christ- 
mas tide, he writes : — 



76 . COMING OF AGE. 

XYI. Our families have been wonderfully preserved. 
Year after year the same &ces are seen round the same 
table, and not a vacant chair to repress the festivities of 
Christmas ! Another year is drawing to a close. I look 
forward with new sensations to the period when Hope 

pictures us again assembled. But we have got 

two months to travel through first; and what dangers 
and perils may await us in the interim it is in infinite 

wisdom ordained we should not know. Yes, L , such 

is life ! Let us hold fast by each other as long as we can. 
When the winds and the tempest are raging without, we 
should draw the closer to each other. Let us stir up 
the fire of friendship, and talk over old times ; or rather 
let our conversation be of that world where all the 
children of God shall meet from all the families of the 
world, where sorrow and sickness shall be known no 
more, and an anthem of praise ascend from myriads of 
ransomed souls for ever and ever. The Conders, we have 
jokingly said, are not horn to riches. D.D. is the highest 
honour yet attached to the name. We have been styled 
a family of quizzes, and Providence has doomed us to 
plod on in unassuming mediocrity ; while Gk)ut, and Bile, 
and Care, and sometimes AiUction, have knocked at our 
doors, and pruned luxuriant joy ; but yet how highly are 
we privileged, that we can look up to parents whose 
death will (we doubt not) be their gain — parents who in 
the world and church fill up respectable places, and shine 
with steady if not dazzling light, whose prayers and 
examples we may well deem a blessing. The name of 
Conder, unstained with crime, will be long remembered 
with honour in many a religious society. Do not think 
I assume a style too patriarchal or affected, in saying 
what satisfaction it affords me to look round on fiiends 
and cousins, whose example I may follow also, whose 



OOP AGE. 77 

yalue is not extrinsic. I expect mucH firom you, and 
count upon jour friendship. 

This chapter may appropriately close with some lines 
written on coming of age, a copy of which was accom- 
panied with the following note to two of his cousins : — 

XVII. Deab CouBiiTs, — ^I have been acting on the 
plan of " every man his own laureate." The annexed 
verses, whatever merit they want, tell the plain, unvar- 
nished tale of my own feelings ; and there is one passage 
in which I hope you will feel an interest congenial with 
the sentiments that inspired it. I hope to find you at 
our table on Monday evening, but preferred sending to 
giving you the verses. They are not meant for every eye, 
but you are welcome, if you think proper, to show them 
to " The Roses." I have not read them to Bucklersbury, 

and do not know whether I shall I quite enjoy 

feeling well and cheerful this evening, and look forward 
to a Sabbath with feelings of hope and thankfulness ; and 
father, too, seems pretty well. I think a little would 
Duake me happy yet. God bless you both. 

SEPTEMBEB 17, 1810. 

Onoe more the months their roimd haVe run, 
And the hand pointa to twenty-one. 
Thy blessing, Father Thne^ I pray — 
They tell me Tm of age to-day. 

Of age ! What then ? No rich domain, 

No noble heritage, my gain : 

Say, will the year imchain my will P 

Alas ! I am a minor still. 

Hope's prisoner I still must wait. 

And serve the apprenticeship of Fate. 



78 COMING OF AGE. 

Of age ! Ah, jes : I long have been 

An actor in the busy scene. 

My skiff has left the quiet shore, 

And mj hand grasps the heayy oar. 

I hear the elemental roar, 

And shudder at the rising strife 

That heaves the troublous sea of life. 

Long have I been of age to fear, 

To hope, to shed the anxious tear, 

To wish, to strive, to do, to dare. 

Of age to suffer and to bear. 

Of age to love ? Yes, if that name 

Be given to Friendship's holj flame ; 

For that is Virtue's tender claim. 

But me should other passions move. 

Oh, no ! I'm not of age to love. 

For once, as I' with Fancy strayed. 

Love met me, and half smiling said, 

A Poet's heart was his by right : 

I had assented if I might ; 

But I a nobler name have known. 

And, as a Christian, claim'd my own. 

Thine empire, Lore! thy peaceful dime, 

Lies not beneath the reign of Time, 

Where all is change, and wintry storms 

For ever rear their threatening forms. 

No : through a wilderness we roam, 

Poor pilgrims to a better home. 

But oft the road is steep and bare : 

My scrip Ah I nought but Hope is there. 

And this my harp is all my store, 

For Forttme gave me nothing more. 

And will my harp's unskilful lay 

£eep the fidl spectre Care away ? 

But if in tweet reserve there be 
No sunshine days of love for me, 
Why should I waste a fruitless sigh. 
Am the light-treading yean go by f 



Of AGE. 79 



If bliss to me the world denies, 
rU snatch enjoyment from the sides. 
Come, Friendship, for thj jojs are mine, 
And round mj brow thj chaplet twine ; 
Thj Jasmine dear, sweet Eglantine, 
Geranium, too, of brilliant hue, 
And Violet dad in tender blue ; 
While thj own Boses o'er mj head 
Shall nerer-dying fragrance shed. 
Oh, mystic wreath ! tax be the hour 
That spoils thee of one breathing flower. 



But my heart sinks, my spirits £eu1. 
Oh ! what can strength like mine ayail ? 
God of my childhood and my youth ! 
I trust Thy mercy, and Thy truth. 
My times are in thy hand. To Thee, 
Who hast my helper been, I flee. 
Oh ! save me, guide me to the last, 
Till Life with all its storms be past ; 
And till my soul shall be of age 
For her eternal heritage. 



CHAPTEE ni. 

CITIZEir AI^D HUSBAin). 

Ik the autumn of 1811, Mr. Gonder senior, whose health 
was at that time very feeble and precarious, and whose 
business was not in a prosperous condition, by the advice 
of his friends, relinquished business entirely, and was 
succeeded by his son Josiah, whose pocket-book con- 
tains the following brief entry: — "Dec. 11. Began 
business on my account." In prospect of the opening 
of this new and important chapter of his life, he had 
written a few weeks previously : — " I have had, for some 
weeks past, peculiar anxieties to sustain. My father's 
state of health was such as to render his going from 
home indispensable, and he has, accordingly, been spend- 
ing a fortnight at Melboum, frt)m which he returned 
much the better in his looks, and really the better, if not 
essentially; he could not have lasted as he was. The 

clouds, however, have returned He cannot 

continue the work ; but I must, and it must be by turning 
over the leaf. .... Everybody that has yet been 
spoken to seems to agree as to the propriety of this step, 
which I look forward to with trembling hope as that 
turn in the road of life which will introduce my dear 
father to a peaceful and shaded bye-path, more soft to 
his weary feet, and which shall gently conduct him to 
the close of the pilgrimage. For myself I have neitheir 
hopes, nor fears, nor anxieties ; but I am convinced it is 



ENTEBIN6 BUSINESS. 81 

the best, the only step to be taken for mj own ad- 
vantage ; and if I can once get the load that has been 
pressing on my heart and health into my hands and my 
head, I shall run on as lightsome as can be. In such a 
crisis, I trust I feel where wisdom must come from, and 
where strength is treasured. This very crisis is, I trust, 
the answer to my prayers, and I will pray and hope con- 
tinually ; and I shall have the prayers of my friends too. 
At present I feel relieved rather than depressed. . . . 
I he^d a very plain and interesting sermon yesterday 
evening from £ev. Mr. Montgomery, brother of my friend 
James, at the Moravian Chapel, Fetter Lane, where he 
is come up with the prospect of settling. I called on 
him afterwards. 

The following letters bear date a little earlier, in the 
same year : — 

Bucklenbuiy, August 17 (St. Isaac), 1811. 

XVJLU. If you will accept the world's leavings, which 
is all I have to set before you, I will spread the cloth, 
and we will sit down together. You remember the old 
proverb, " Better is a dry morsel with love," and this I 
can offer you; but so many harpy cares have been 
quartered upon me that I have little mind, and not all 
my heart lefb for you. . . . As £Eir as I can 
ascertain, I am nearly what and where you lefb me, 
perhaps a little wiser for the cares and trials of the 
intervening months, and a little more advanced into the 
unexplored regions of the fiiture. "Were I to give reins 
to my pen it would, very likely, take little notice of the 
mercies, the comforts, and enjoyments which have been 
crowded into this little space ; and only dilate on the 
burdens and sorrows which oppress me. In this, how- 
ever, I ought not to indulge myself, and especially now* 



82 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

you are enjoying yourself (as I hope) in Devonshire. 
All I want you to remember is me, and not my circum- 
stances ; for if I were half that distance from town, it is 
probable I should half forget them too. Two days of 
this delightful forgetfulness I lately snatched in the 

beautiful and romantic vicinity of Dorking 

I do not know whether you have heard of the melancholy 
death of Spencer, who was going to be married to 
Martha Hamilton. He was drowned in bathing ; and 

the news seemed to open afresh Mrs. W 's wounded 

heart. Ah! see, I have imperceptibly summoned up 
afflictions keener than mine. How much does it become 
me to be silent ! And yet there are dark moments when 
all the stars go in, all the hues of fancy vanish, and 
friendship's voice is mute — earth is all desolate and 
gloomy — ^there is nothing around me but God ; and fi^m 
this infinite presence, this almighty support, the soul, 
half unbelieving, half distrustful, as well as painfully 
conscious of her unworthiness, shrinks back, and clings 
to the receding hopes of earth. 

'* Oh, for an oyercoming £uth to cheer these lonely hours !" 

How different is it to exercise faith and resignation, as 
it were in the abstract, fr^m what it is, when the push 
comes, to quit us like men and be strong — ^to feel all that 
is contained in that verse of Montgomery's (which has a 
reference to different seasons) — 

" No I my Boul, in God rejoice I 
Thro* the gloom his light I see ; 
In the silence hear his Toice ; 
And his hand is over me.** 

And now you may gather from this an answer to your 
question, "How I am." Father's health has been at 



LETTERS. 83 

tiines very indifferent. Proyidence seemB to be weaning 
Mm, and fitting me. For what I am fitting, why should I 
inquire ? Whatever may occur, whichever side of alter- 
natives I contemplate, anxiety is before me, and I must 
of necessity leave the event, since I cannot foreteU nor 
prevent it. Forgive me for dropping into this strain. I 
am too tired to rise above it ; and so I will lay down my 
pen, and wait for the aid of the Sabbath — 

" That cheerfiil day in mercy giyen, 
That earth may look awhile like heaven." 

August 20th, I had almost forgotten your inquiry 
about O'Eeid, touching which, as I do not like to lay 
you under restrictions, I must rely on your discretion. 
It has not yet been reviewed, nor does it sell as I 
could wish, but the time of year is much against it. I 
have reason to be well satisfied with the opinions of both 
fidends and strangers respecting it. I think I told you 
how Kev. Bobert Hall, and Mx. Southey, old Charles 
Taylor, Dr. Smith, etc., had commended it. I do not, 
however, wish on any account to be known, especially 
by mj friends, as a pamphleteer or author ; I care less 
about strangers. 

Well, I have heard 'the first four cantos, forming (I 
suppose) about half of the " World befi)re the Flood," 
and a splendid poem it is! As it is not likely to be 
published this year at soonest, you will perhaps wish 
some account of it ; but as the story is not fuUy un* 
folded, I must deal in generals. It is written in rhym- 
ing couplets of ten feet [syllables]. The action takes up 
about three days. The prominent character is Javan 
the minstrel, one of the descendants of Seth, who had 
been incited by a love of fame and curiosity to forsake 
the dwellings of the patriarchs, to roam amongst the 



84 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

tribes of Cain ; but, unsatiBfied, restless, and conscience- 
smitten, he returns as a penitent, and is received by 
Enoch as a pardoned prodigal. His love for Zillah 
forms an interesting underplot. The catastrophe I 
understand to be this : the chief of the tribes of Cain, 
a Nimrod, having overrun the habitable world, draws up 
his forces against the Httle remnant of the pious, with 
the infernal resolve to extirpate them, and reign sole and 
uncontrolled. The patriarchs are defeated in a battle ; 
but at the moment he is proceeding to execute his bloody 
resolves, the translation of Enoch takes place, in sight of 
the whole camp, lliis, I understand from Farken, forms 
one of the finest passages in modem poetry. The tyrant 
is awe-struck, and afterwards is assassinated by his mis- 
tress. Besides this, the Deluge is introduced in the form 
of prophecy, and the Creation in that of an ode. The 
fourth canto contains the narrative (by Enoch) of the 
death of Adam, and is one of the most beautiful and 
interesting passages I ever read. It is the conflict of 
fi&ith with the king of terrors, in the first sinner. I have 
called it beautifiil, but it should have been styled grand, 
sublime. That sublimity too, which only the Christian 
can er^oy, though the critic must perceive it ; such as 
Montgomery, of all living poets, could alone, perhaps, 
have attained to. Bloomfield's '^ Banks of the Wye" is 
out, and is a very pretty^ sparkling poem. It is, I think, 
quite worthy of him. The author of " How d'ye do, and 
Good b'ye" (Hon. "W. Spencer) has sent out an octavo 
of most exquisite y^iM? d^ esprit and vers de sociiti. No- 
thing, you see, but poetry. Mrs. More's "Practical 
Piety" has reached, however, a fifth edition. Pray, have 
you read Dr. Buchanan's "Christian Besearches?" 
Oret it, if possible ; you will be highly interested in it. 
And now I have exhausted my literary budget. I shall 



MR. o'beid. 85 

be glad, in return, to hear firom jou whenever, as soon 
as, and as often as, you feel disposed. It is refreshing to 
get a grape now and then from Eshcol. It will do me 
good to hear from jou that you are well and happy, as I 
hope you are; but do not write to me as a task. I 
thought I had many other things to say, but I &ncy 
they were only feelings, not yet hatched into ideas ; and 
I dare say they were not singing birds. The whole thirty 
unite in love to you. Eather is, I am sorry to say, but 
very poorly. You will give our respects to your host and 
hostess ; and my love to Devonshire. Now, once again, 
farewell, and God bless you. I am, dear Cousinette, 
yours affectionately, 

JOSIAH CONDEB, 

Earl Myrtle, Baron O'Beid, Knight 
of the Order of the Wreath, A.M., 
etc. But where my estates? A 
castle in Ayrshire, and six feet near 
the Artillery Qround ! ! 

The paragraph about "O'Eeid" in this letter refers 
to Mr. Conder's first separate publication, a pamphlet 
entitled "Eeviewers Eeviewed," published under the 
nom de guerre of Jno. Chas. O'Beid (an anagram for 
Josiah Conder). The Bev. Bobert Hall observed, on 
reading it, that " he had always been of Mr. O'Eeid's 
opinion touching the reviews ; as to the Edinhii/rgh JB«- 
view (at that time, it is needless to say, very different in 
spirit from what it has since become), " it was worthy 
of a sanhedrim of hell !" 

June 22, 1811. 

XIX And now I have exhausted my topics^ 

what shall I employ my pen upon P As to myself, I have 



86 CITIZEN AXD HUSBAND. 

« 

nothing tp say. I am Bony that I cannot say Colchester 
began a new paragraph, but it was a delightM parenthe- 
sis. I was going to say, I must get rid of some of my 
anxieties ; but as I do not see how this fMist depends on 
my own exertions, this would sound too much like saying 
what Providence must do for me. I am a&aid to think 
that my mind and character would be the better for an 
external change, but certainly my feelings would be. 
What is before me I know not. I am only sailing on 
silently, but what land I am nearing, in what direction I 
am proceeding, I cannot tell, for I have no chart. I only 
hope to hold together for a few more leagues, and some 
shore I must arrive at. My father is very poorly thia 
week. No sacrifice would be too great to disengage him 
from business, but it can only be done with sacrifices. 
This, however, is no pleasing subject ; and you have cares 
enough of your own. I assure you I often think of them 
for a change ; and then I sometimes feel a hope and a con- 
fidence as to you which react upon my mind, and make me 
feel resigned and patient for myself. I see how all the road 
to heaven is — difficulty. "We only want to be quiet. We 
think, perhaps, we should be good enough without so much 
discipline — ^that we shall be well enough and strong enough 
without so rigid a diet, so frequent potions, and such hard 
exercise. We look at others who appear quite healthful 
and happy amid luxuries, or at least comforts, which we are 
fiunting for. Is it not hard to say, " It is well ?" " What 
I do, thou knowest not now !" If we did know, how joy- 
fully should we submit to the mysterious conduct of 
our Master, and exclaim, "Not my feet only.'* We 
should do aU, and bear all. And does not Peter's 
Lord and Saviour still preside over our lives P All here 
is mystery, but is it not mercy P Mysterious mercy, but 
mercy still. And though what He doth we know not 



THE PRESENT AND THE FUTURE. 87 

now — oh, joyful fOid conBoliug thought I--*^we shall know 
hereafter. 

After expressing thoughts like these one day to Old- 
ing, I said — " But, oh ! Monday morning will be as diffi- 
cult and oYerwhelming as ever! Of what use is this 
talking ?" " Not as much as ever," repKed he : " there 
will be some difference ; and if we can but acquire the 
habit of thus talking and feeling, we shall have done 
much, and gained that which must have a sensible influ- 
ence on our conduct," With these views and this hope, 
I continue to write sentiments destitute of novelty, and 
to which my feelings very inadequately answer \ but the 
mind is the better for having thought a good thought, and 
the heart the better for every effort towards virtue. We 
will not, however, rest in either thoughts or feelings, but 
continue our work without £ainting, and leave the clouds 
and the rain to do their part. We are not responsible 

&r our own happiness, for it is not in our power * 

We muat leave our father to pay our expenses to heaven, 
while we only see to it that we are in the right road. In 
temporala and in spirituals we have 9nly got to act, and 
we mu9t learn to be happy, or at least comfortable, without 
success. And now, brethren, for the application. Ay, 
there's the rub. We will defer this to the next oppor- 
tunity. 

XX Alas ! we have no Urim and Thummim. Is it 
a vessel, or only a doud, that specks the horizon ? We 
have no glass to discover. But how foolish it is to be 
looking out at the door as if our eye would hasten the 
expected comer, till at last we are obliged to come in and 
calnily seat oursdlves. Bad, what we might as weU have 
done at first, wait. And then, how painful to hear step 
after step, nearer and loudw, approaching, then pass by. 



88 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

and die away, while the suspended breath returns with 
a sigh. Better, then, to shut the door, and return to the 
needle or the spinning-wheel, and work away as if we 
had nothing to think of. What pretty, poetical, imprac- 
ticable advice ! 

XXI. I am sincerely glad you think of setting about 
something, and I hope you will avail yourself of the 
opportunity to engage in it leisurely, but yet actively 
.... Is it not the case that you place a morbid de- 
pendence upon frames and feelings P Now, shall I con- 
fess to you that, in general, I consider all that is said 
about poetical inspiration and " comfortable opportuni- 
ties," both literary and religious, as (I was going to say) 
half delusion and half indolence. Eorgive me for using 
such terms, for I plead guilty myself to the implication. 
I think I know perfectly well the mood you describe, it 
is both the optative and the potential ; but I believe the 
comparative excellence of the e&sions of such hours 
would often be found far inferior to what we may at first 
conclude from the pleasurable feelings which accom- 
panied them. Genius, I maintain, does not ebb and flow ; 
it is only the spirits that vary, and we fancy our minds 
to be unempowered because they refuse to act. But 
mental activity and elasticity, that greatest of all intellec- 
tual blessings, and source of perennial enjoyment, is a 
hahit to be acquired. lassure you I regret nothing more 
than the inertness of my own intellectual powers ; but 
yet, if I may say it, I am better in this respect than you ; 
perhaps for this reason, among others, that being of a 
more phlegmatic habit, and therefore less subject to those 
sunshine inspirations, those ''angel visits, few and far 
between," than yourself, I have been compelled to do 
more without them, to work by the light of my own 



POETIC INSPIRATION. 89 

caddie. And this I can assure you, that some of my 
brightest moments have been struck out, by dint of per- 
severing mental effort, from a frame of flat and almost 
lethargic vacuity. I consider poetical exercises especially 
beneficial in this view. Very few of my poems, perhaps 
none of my best, have resulted from Jrames, I have 
written myself into a frame. I have been obliged to 
labour and to study, and found that there are enjoy- 
ments resulting from both. I think I have told you 
Montgomery's idea on this subject ; that, as to the almost 
spontaneous flow of fancy which we sometimes enjoy, con- 
trasted with the cold hours of barren thought, it will 
almost always appear on examination that the former 
were the unconscious result of the latter ; that the pre- 
vious labour bestowed on the subject which employed our 
seemingly fruitless thoughts prepared the mind for its 
subsequent free and vigorous exertion. I Isnow physical 
effects are not to be reasoned against, but mind may do 
something even in curing these. Do not be at the mercy 
of accidents. He that observeth the winds shall not sow, 
and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap. If the 
wind be adverse, or if there be no gale, let us take to the 
oars. It is not often that both wind and tide are against 
us. It is true that when a fog hides the landmarks, 
we may appear to make little progress ; but still we are 
moving, and when the sun breaks out we shall find our- 
selves much ftirther than we expected. "We are not to 
judge of the usefulness of an hour by its actual, or rather 
apparent progress. "We can only judge by average. Is 
there not a sort of intellectual methodism ? But we are 
to seek enjoyment, not as a preparation for exertion, but 
as the fruit of it : we are to obtain warmth from exercise. 
Tour father wishes you to write for money, and so do 
I ; but I am desirous that you should write for the sake 



90 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

of ascertaming your own strength, and promoting your 
own healthful enjoyment. Excuse this hortatory lecture ; 
but as it is dictated by experience and prompted by sym. 
pathy, so it is as much addressed to myself as to you. 
I add with Bums — 

" And may you better reck the rede 
Than ever did th' adyiser." 

.... You render me impatient to see the " Scottish 
Chiefs/' though I had almost vowed never to touch 
another novel. They intoxicate me. I find my mind 
needs dieting, as well as constant exercise, to preserve it 
from morbid feelings. There are many poems which I 
dare to read only when I am rather flat, or very strong ; 
for instance, some of Bums's and Campbell's. I have to 
gird up the loins of my mind and be sober, which is often 
no easy task for a poet of one-and-twenty. 

XXn. I think we ought to dwell more on the guar- 
dianship, the shepherd-care, the providential government 
which Jesus Christ exercises over his people. It is an 
idea different from that which is annexed to God as the 
moral governor of the universe. The Divine Providence 
bears a special aspect to Christians under the adminis- 
tration of the Saviour, and it might often assist our faith 
and incite our hope to realize Him who bore the sorrows 
of humanity, and still retains its feelings — ^who came so 
near to man,* that He even suffered being tempted — as 
the King of kings, on whose shoulder the government is 

* In the tiniidity of this expression, ** came so near to man," there 
seems a trace of tiiat morbid reaction agamst Soouoiamsm, which 
made orthodox Christians, fifty years ago, fearful of dwdling on the 
nal and complete humanity of the Lord Jesns. Socinianism, periu^M, 
did eren mora harm in the rebound than by its diract it!fti<y<^ 



PRATEB. HTMNOLOGT. 91 

laid — as a tender Shepherd, who will neirer suffer us to 
want, but is Himself leading our steps through green 
pastures and beside the still waters. 

. . . . What a wonderful thought is it that we 
are encouraged to pray, not only for mercy for ourseWes, 
but for blessings on others, that, peradventure, by 
*' asking" we may sometimes " give a sinner life," and, 
much more, obtain for a Mend happiness. Isaac was 
saying the other day, that perhaps it will form part of 
our delightful employment in the world of spirits to 
recall and mutually disdose the prayers we have offered 
for each other. Oh, that blessed world ! Is it, indeed, a 
reality? Are we hastening to immortality P Is this 
life but the porch of existence, the prelude to eternity P 
Seeing, then, we look for such things, what manner of 
persons — oh ! what different persons — ought we to be in 
our thoughts, and desires, and conversation ! 

XXin. I dined with Dr. Collver, at his house at 
Blackheath, last Wednesday, when he showed me the 
proofe of his new collection of 1000 hymns, designed as 

a supplement to, not substitute for. Dr. Watts It 

will form a very iuteresting volume, and a powerM rival 
to Dr. Sippon. There are about 200 of Charles Wesley's, 
a poet of the fLrst order. Those of his which the Doctor 
read possess a great deal of Addison's elegance, with 
Cowper's pathos, and Watts's seraphic fire. But to the 
point. I recollected the white book, and Dr. Collyer 
eagerly caught at the idea of anything of yours. My 
father, however, advised me to venture nothing without 
permission; and this note comes to request you would 
send me up your authority to let him iasert in his col- 
lection that exquisite hymn of yours, "Oh, why this 
disconsolate frame," and, if you please, " Thou who didst 



9^ CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

for Peter's faith." .... The signature can be what you 
please : your name at length, as it is now so eictensively 
known, and as it is desirable it should be, would, I think, 
be best. My motive in this suggestion and request is, 
of course, to do good. But, to speak more particularly, 
I wish others to receive that pleasure, to use the lowest 
word, from your hymns which I have ; while at the same 
time, I may add to the value of Dr. CoUyer's work, and 
oblige him too. There is, after all, so little good devo- 
tional poetry-scriptural rhymings, and metrical aennona, 
and textual paraphrases in rhyme, there are in abun- 
dance — ^that I esteem a genuine hymn a treasure. I have 
one in my possession, beginning " Come, my fond, flut- 
tering heart," which ought to be published. It would be 
music to many a heart, because it contains feelings to 
which the heart responds, and which it is consolation to 
discover in another. I do not expect I shall ever gain 
permission of its timid author, from the mistaken idea 
(as it appears to me) that its publication woidd involve 
the disclosure of personal feelings. On reading a hymn, 
nobody inquires why it was written, or attributes the 
feelings it depicts to the poet's actual, or at any rate 
present, experience. Doubtless, in Cowper's pathetic 
efilisions there are bound up many painfiil mental his- 
tories, many a mysterious experience, which are only to 
be even guessed at by those who have known something 
of the same. However, an anonymous publication coidd 
betray nothing ; but I find I am pleading for what I have 
not ventured to ask. 

I have given the Doctor my twenty-third Fsalm, but 
do not know whether it will suit him. I have a little 
improved it. [Here follow several emendations.] I like 
thus to evangelize and Christianize the Fsabns. 



USES OF GOBRESPONDENCE. 93 

1812. 

XXIY There is this advantage in correspond- 
ence, that it leads ns to spread out our minds before 
our own inspection, in a way that we should hardly have 
taken the trouble to have done for our mere selves. If 
we are honest, it leads us to select those points of our 
own character and circumstances which are the most 
essential parts of ourselves, but which, in the bustle of 
common thoughts, we are apt to lose sight of. ... . 
Minds such as mine are perpetualLy getting out of tune ; 
they sink a Ml note, after the world has been for some 
time scraping upon them; and too often, for want of 
leisure, I am obliged to keep playing on most discord- 
antly to myself, my thoughts out of unison. It is de- 
lightful to me at such times to have recourse to the key- 
note, and tune my harp by that of a sister minstrel. 

.... How apt are we to forget our own prayers — 
wearied, if they appear unavailing; if answered, half 
sceptic of their efElciency ; or else disposed to rest on our 
oars, insensible of our dependence and unmindM of our 
duty ! If you are disposed to ask me what led me to 
this track of thought, I can only inform you that it came 
of its own accord this evening into my mind, with the 
conviction that my own heart was guilty ; and I reflected, 
too, how often a slavish and unchildlike sense of unworthi- 
ness, arising as much from a deficiency of love as from a 
conviction of sin, had kept me back from the feeling of 
gratitude — ^that wholesome, enlivening feeling. At other 
times, so full are we of our wants and our burdens, that 
we forget it is still our duty, with thanksgiving, to make 
known our requests unto G-od. The temper of thankful- 
ness is surely one of the greatest blessings we can enjoy ; 
it disarms misfortune of half its power. But it is truly 
humiCating to find how much our gratitude depends on 



94 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

nerves and spirits. To be thankful and anxious at the 

same time, thankful and poorly, and, worse stiU, thankful 

and iU-hunioured, are next to impossibilities; and yet 

one might be more grateful, were it only for the peaceful, 

cheerful feeling which accompanies it. I believe one 

personal obstacle to the exercise of the specific duty is, 

that our self-love demands the mercies which lay claim 

to gratitude to wear some speciality of form in regard to 

ourselves, as though what we enjoyed in common with all 

called for return from none, otherwise than by the general 

cold assent of praise. In regard to other subjects of 

thanksgiving, such is the goodness of God, so immense, 

and by human reason so unaccountable, addressing itself 

rather to faith than to experience, that we are imable to 

realize it, or form our belief into a persuasion of its 

truth; so that we are content to reserve the song of 

praise for that world in which it shall be unfolded in all 

its fulness. 

1818. 

XXY. I am quite impatient of these long parentheses 
in our correspondence; but it is some satisfaction to 
know that they have been produced by circumstances, 
unforeseen and important, which have for the time held 
us apart — a new era in many respects to all of us — and 
not by any alteration in us. I do not like professions or 
promises; they are often ominous — ^the last effort of 
decaying affection, or the bright hour which precedes the 
devastating storm. But ^^]i£e shall not do by us as it 
does by the rest of the world." Prosperity might make 
UB forget each other ; but on thia side we have not much 

to fear, and in affliction we feel we are firiends I 

am persuaded, my dear friend, when you and I look back 
a year or two on our present circumstances, and the 
events of the &w past years, we shall perceive a suitable- 



I 

I 



FBIENDSHIPS. 95 

nesB and harmony in the occurrences to which they have 
given birth. I do not presume to anticipate your future, 
or, so DsiT as respects events, my own. There are, how- 
ever, some apparent coincidences which one cannot help 
observing ; they seem to hint out the designs of Provi- 
dence. There is in the events of human life an orderly 
succession, a natural progress, which must be attended 
with changes. We lose little for which Providence does 
not present us with an equivalent ; we gain little but at 
the expense of surrendering a something of enjoyment. 
We are apt unduly to regret the blossoms of the past, 
and to call the change of growth decay and devastation. 
But there is wisdom and goodness in the general order 
of our moral year. We are, I hope, too good husband- 
men to look back ; let us rather look forward to spring, 
and the next spring will be eternal. 

Appended to the letter from which the foregoing 
extract is made is a copy of birthday verses addressed 
to Mr. Montgomery, which may fitly be inserted here, as 
a simple but graceful memorial of one of the author's 
earliest, most valued, and most enduring friendships. 

TO JAMES MONTGOMEBY, 
NovxMBSs 4^ 1812. 

It was a fiction wild but sweet, 

By andfiiit bards related : 
Thejlield that on our erring feet 

A guardian spirit waited ; 
That eveiy mortal from bis birth 
Was thus, through ail the ills of earth. 
By genie, fey, or heavenly power attended — 

The secret lover of his sou]. 

Who, with unseen, unfelt control, 
Watched o'er his mind, and all his steps be&iended. 



96 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

It was a solemn, Boothing thought 

To minds of pensiye sadness ; 
In hours of lonely woe it wrought, 

And turned the gloom to gladness. 
This shadowy partner of the mind. 
With awe mysterious and refined, 
Was lored and worshipped, feared and cherished. 

Its yoioe, in inward conyerse heard, 

Comrage, and fiiith, and hope con£arred. 
Or whispered peace, when hope had perished. 

And is there not some shadowy power, 

Which rules in secret o'er us. 
And oft, in Feeling's twilight homr, 

Stands half-reyealed hefore us ? 
Thj guardian friend is haUowed Fame ; 
She fires thy mind and loyes thy name ; 
Hers is the yoioe that haunts thy slumhers. 

A gentle power my path pursues, 

Friendship, my angel-guide — ^the muse 
Who first inspired my simple numbers. 

I haye a harp of many strings, 

Such mystic powers inyest it, 
On certain days it murmuring rings. 

Although no hand hath pressed it. 
I start, and listen : fioating near 
Besponsiye notes arrest my ear. 
And she, my spirit friend, appeareth ; 

Gkranium blossoms intertwined. 

With yiolet and myrtle bind 
Her brow, and near her heart a rose she weareth. 

And thus, with flower and eyergreen 

Her yirgin brow adorning. 
The gentle sprite^ with pensiye mien, 

Appeared this haUowed morning. 
Noyember^s chill and sullen blast 
Melted to music as she past. 



mmmmm^mmmmm 



REV. HENRY MARC^. 97 

And to mj Ijre a thousand Ijies replied. 

I saw the heavenly gates unfold ; 

There thrones were set, and harps of gold ; 
And Friendship stood exultant Fame heside. 

Another early and dear friend was the Bev. Henry 
March, now of Newbury, in those years a student at 
Homerton College. The friendship then commenced sur- 
viyed the changes of more than forty years, strengthened 
and hallowed by the assured hope of its being perpetuated 
in a happier world. The letters addressed to this highly 
valued friend naturally embody many of their writer's 
views on religious, theological, and public topics. The 
first bears date August 12, 1813. 

XXVI. My deab Fbieitd, — ^Tour letter, which I 
^still consider unanswered, is simply dated " Saturday." 
Was this considerately done, that the lapse of weeks since 
I received it might not reproach me, in case of my not 
beiog able to reply to it so early as I wished? I have 
ofben looked at it, and promised myself some pleasiire in 
going over it with my pen in hand ; but opportunity 
is with me always future. The angel visits of leisure are 
indeed " few and far between." Tha chariot of time is 
generally driven by his iU-favoured charioteer, necessity ; 
and its course is only visible by the dust it throws up in 
its progress over the duU high-road of Hfe. Excuse this 
metaphor. The fact is, I feel as if I should Hke to take 
a ride exceedingly this evening, and taste the free breeze; 
from which idea, perhaps, it arose that I got astride a 
simile which had weU-nigh ran away with me. Oh, the 
country, the country ! I long to revisit it as ardently as 
ever fond lover longed to embrace his chosen one. My 
mind is kept awake so constantly by the din of the world, 
that it seems as if it required, like the body, an interval of 



98 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

slumber, and the solace of dreams — ^not only to repose 
from exertion, but to forget all of itself but the past and 
the future, of which the dreams of fancy and remem- 
brance are framed. Let this be m^ apology for the real 
difficulty I feel in improving the brief minutes of leisure, 
so as to render this letter, by any intellectual exertion, 
at all worth your reception. There are a hundred topics 
which it would be delightM for me to talk over with you 
in^Somersetshire, but which now it fatigues me to think 
of. But I will no longer defer writing to you. 

You apologise for egotism, and yet without it how 
are we to know each other ? It constitutes the indivi- 
duality of a letter, which forms its interest. I regret that 
we know no more of each other ; but when we have met 
in person there has seemed to exist an awkwardness 
somewhere, which has prevented our minds coming into 
contact.* The language of friendship is so arbitrary and 
idiomatic, that it reqiiires habit before we can converse 
with fluency in its various dialects. But I am sure on 
most points we should sympathise. Our feelings are set 
pretty nearly in the same key ; it is in our habits of 
thought we are different. In regard to the discourage- 
ment which arises from the illimitable nature of know- 
ledge, and the imperfection of the intellectual powers, 
it is a subject which has often pressed upon my attention; 
and I have been disposed to believe that we ought to 
regard knowledge itself as a mere means — ^a moral means 
in subservience to our education for a higher state of 
being. The greater part of that which we dignify by this 
name, and which is certainly essential to certain temporary 
purposes of life, is so entirely unconnected with the pe^> 
manent realities of the soul, that its use and remem- 
brance will terminate with the dream of life. '* As for 
• (* We bad known each other then but a fisw montha.— H. M.** 



ENDS OF KNOWLEDGE. 99 

knowledge, it shall vanish away." I certainly would not 
remain wiDingly ignorant of any of the wonders of natural 
science or human wisdom ; I would not part with the 
thirst for knowledge, which is as essential a concomitant 
of mental health, as the appetites are of physical vigour. 
But shut out as the greater part of society are from in- 
tellectual pursuits, often being compelled to sacrifice 
them to the considerations of duty, it would be dis- 
couraging to think that on this account they should suffer 
any material loss. It certainly is humbling, and designed 
to humble us, to find what long and patient labour is 
requisite for the attainment- of the first principles of 
science ; but we ought not always to estimate the result 
of our day's labour by the sum of our acquired knowledge. 
If the mind has been exercised, a process has been going 
forward, by which the most valuable ends of knowledge 
are subserved. It is thus I console myself. I find I 
must remain ignorant for life on many classes of subjects, 
for want of leisure to pursue them; and must sufier 
under an erroneous judgment, perhaps, on several points, 
in consequence of this ignorance (for the chief end of 
knowledge is the correction of error). I believe that the 
power of being great or distinguished is denied me by an 
aJl-wise Providence, because the very means are withheld. 
Still, I have the moral means of improving my faculties, 
by directing them to the real objects of life, by maintain- 
ing that simplicity in my motives and endeavours which 
is essential to intellectual advancement, and by cultivat- 
ing habits of attention to the principles and necessary 
relations of truths and of actions, which form the basis 
of wisdom. With these views, what an infinite advan- 
tage has the simple Christian over the philosopher, be- 
cause he is simple ! With the Bible in his hand, he has 
the key to half the problems which engage the other's 



100 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

life-long studies ; and in the disposition to receive and 
delight in truth, he already possesses the best fruit of 
knowledge. And what a prospect is unfolded, so soon as 
the initiatory term of his existence shall be completed ! 
In what strange and surpassing sense shall we then 
" know as we are known !" What new objects will then 
engage all the energies of thought — objects not of form 
and shadow — ^the modes, and accidents, and names of 
things — ^but realities, seen in their essence and necessary 
relation to each other, and to the Great Cause of all 
things ! Knowledge there will no longer be a distinc- 
tion, a laborious acquirement, but an element and an 
instinct. Heaven vnll be a region of intellect, but a 
state of action too ; and the perfection of our powers will 
be accompanied with the determination of our affections 
towards their true centre : and in this consists the har- 
mony of being. 

I have lately been reading a little woA which you 
are, perhaps, no stranger to — " Scougal's Life of GK)d in 
the Soul of Man." I am delighted with it beyond every- 
thing. It is the very marrow of divinity and philosophy. 
One sentence especially is to me a golden one — ^the love of 
G-od " is an affectionate and delightful sense of the Divine 
perfections." It is only this that we want to make us 
happy and truly great, in possessing the image of God. 
In ourselves we have only sources of discouragem^t, 
but we are not " straitened in Him," nor have any reason 
to fear that we shall find ourselves inadequate to any 
service to which He has called us, if we go forward in 
his strength. 

What a relief it is to the mind to turn to such sub* 
jeets as these when sick of the emptiness of life ! The 
world is, indeed, ** a tiresome place." Its best goods are 
scarcely worth the purchase. Disappointment and care 



LETTERS TO HIS SISTER. 101 

ifi our altemAtiye discipline ; it matters little what form 
they assume. *' The heart knoweth its own bittemesB." 
It is your privilege that the path you have chosen 
exempts you from much to which others are exposed, 
whose daily converse and efforts must necessarily respect 
low and selfish objects. The fewer and the higher our 
secondary objects, the better for our peace. The nearer 
they are to our ultimate object, the more secure are our 
enjoyments. But I must break off here. I hope to hear 

the country has set you up in health Pray 

remember me very respectfiilly to Mr. Qunn. — ^I am, 
dear March, yours affectionately, 

JOSIAH GO]<rDBB. 

To the same date with the foregoing belong the 
following extracts from his correspondence with his 
youngest sister : — 

Oct. 20, 1813. 

XXVII The tone of your last letter 

delighted us all, and relieved me of some anxiety. Your 
first made us feel for your plight, when you found your- 
self two miles beyond N ! ! But as it ended well I 

was not Sbrry for it, nor should I be for anything in the 
shape of adventure or peril that may end in safety. One 
is always the better for having undergone them. In 
&ct, there is nothing of any consequence except eonsc' 
quences; and it is consequences of a moral nature which 
are chiefly to be regarded. I give you credit — ^whether 
I am right or wrong will be seen from your friture life — 
for a great portion of latent energy. You have yet to 
learn the strength of your own mind. Till a person has 
been placed in situations in which he has to act for him* 
self, and to take a part in life as an individual being, he 
has' no opportunity of ascertaining either his strength or 



102 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

hifl weakness. Your mind at home was in considerable 
danger of stagnation ; there is nothing here of strong 
excitement to stir up jour feelings ; there is no object — 
and we all must have an object — ^to employ your efforts. 
I am quite sure that though we might, without much 
moral discipline, become amiable domestic animals, and 
be quite content with a warm hearth, to be capable of 
happiness it is absolutely necessary that we should do a 
great deal for ourselyes, and that a great deal should be 
done for us. Happiness is a fortune to which none of us 
are bom : we must go to school to Industry, and then 
serve an apprenticeship to Experience ; and then we must 
set up for ourselyes on the borrowed capital of affection, 
added to our private stock of integrity. By the help of 
diligence and good management, we may thus make ov/r 
minds and cireumstanees meet, which is as good a definition 
of happiness as can, perhaps, be given. Depend upon it, 
we must make our minds work hard, which they do not 
like, to be, or to deserve to be, happy. Mankind in 
general are half asleep ; their " drowsy powers," as Dr. 
Watts calls them, can only half see and half &el. They 
walk as in a dream, and hear neither the whispers of 
Duty nor the warnings of Conscience. "Indolence is 
the half of vice,*' in most cases : it is not the indolence 
of the saunterer or the lounger that is meant, but intel* 
lectual inertness. Men are incapable of being happy, 
because they love ease, and rest, and pleasure ; and it is 
not till they have been successively deprived of these by 
affliction, by necessity, or by that sense of duty which 
does the work of necessity and affliction by self-denial, 
that they learn what happiness means. To renounce 
ourselves — ^as respects God, by hiunble obedience and 
submission, and the self-renunciation of fiedth — and, as 
respects our fellow-creatures, by meekness and love— this 



HAPPINESS. 103 

is the great lesson of life, and the secret of that true self- 
possession which makes ns equal to all ciroumstances as 
to our duties, and superior to them as to our enjoyments. 
.... We come into the world to cict, not to enjoj. I 
am just heginning'to have something of an habitual per- 
suasion of this truth, and with much, very much, to en- 
gage my affections and my hopes, as you well know, and 

to promise what is called happiness I am yet 

convinced that I shall never find any solid or sufficient 
happiness from anything but Gk>d ; that Mends can ofiZy, 
or at least that they prtncipally, promote our happiness 
by allowing us to make them happy, and thus calling out 
the best affections of the heart ; or by imparting to our 
minds the transforming reflection of their excellences. 
But if we live upon* our friends in any way we are doing 
wrong, and they will be made disappointment and care 
to us. It is selfishness too often, or the mere instincts 
of our nature, which make us cling to them. We shrink 
back, like the infant in the nurse's arm, from the stranger 
world ; but when we cease to be children, we must put 
away childish things and childish feelings. 

" The shadow of My wings 
"MLj soul in safety keeps, 
m follow where mj Father leads, 
For He dirooto my steps," 

18 a verse I have again and again repeated to myself. To 
realize its truth, and rely on it, is all we need. Or shall 
I give you a verse from another favourite poet of ours ? 

(aBDBESSED to the DAWKENa HOUE OF DAY.) 

" What if a day of sun, 

Which has in clouds begun,— 
Thou canst not promise to be ever sparkling, — 

Show that thy doubtful sign 

Can cahn witli storm combine, 
And temper with dear rays the shadows darkling. 



104 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

Tell of the tempest wild, 

That leayes the air more mild ; 
Of chills which tend the ripening term to lengthen ; 

Of showers that serve to show 

The brightness of the bow ; 
And winds that try the roots they do but strengthen.*' 

I have given you rather a long sermon ; this must 
serve as the hymn. I will conclude with a short but 
emphatic prayer, when it is really meant as now — Gkxl 
bless you. 

December 21, 1813. 

XXVIII The principal use of birthdays is, in 

the case of absent friends, to have a set time to remember 
them specially. You are seldom, indeed, forgotten by me, 
any more than by any other member of your flamily. 
But I see you in the midst of a crowd, and though, if you 
could but see it, I now and then give you a nod and a 
smile, I have not time often to single you out for more 
particular attention. K you were at home it would be 
the same ; for I am speaking of the things which employ 
my mind. Often what is passing before me with such 
rapidity seems but a dream — ^the things I see appear the 
most unreal — and I long to wake, that I may command 
my own thoughts, and look at the objects I love best. 
Perhaps all this will appear strange, if not unintelligible to 
you. Perhaps the plain English would run thus : — That 
I live in such a bustle, have so much to do and to think 
of, and am drawn and driven so many ways, that I some- 
times am absolutely giddy with the whirl, and fall down 
almost spent 

Now, do you want to know what I have been so much 
occupied with ? I look back, and cannot tell you ; for 
though Time, as he advanced, appeared at the head of 
such a multitude of duties, businesses, and clamorous 



CHAKACTER AND LIFE. 106 

engagements, and the sound of their trampling almost 
stunned me as they passed, yet it was upon the sands 
that they were treading, and they have left no footsteps 
behind. I have picked up, indeed, a few things which 
dropped from them, but they are trifling mementoes, of 
no use but to the finder. " And this is life ! Ah, fleet- 
ing vapour!" 

.... I calculated upon your getting much good from 
this visit, and, I dare say^ I shall not be found materially 
out in my calculations. At home, your mind is pent up, 
find has not breathing-room. It has been so, in great 
measure, with mine ; and if it had not been for my triah, 
for circumstances which obliged me to (ict and made me 
feely it would have been much more so. The conviction 
it has wrought in my mind is this : — ^That our happiness 
is always promoted by the circumstances which tend to 
our improvement ; and that it is our character ^ not our 
circumstances, on which it essentially depends. ISTothing 
but charctcter is an object deserving our solicitude. At 
this moment I have a thousand anxieties pressing upon 
me, of various kinds, but I am the better for them all, 
because they are anxieties which connect themselves with 
persons and things which I value, not so much as con- 
ducive to my happiness, as because they have had a 
beneficial influence on my mind and my affections. 

.... There is little in the past worth looking at, 
except our failings ; and ever since Lot's wife, it has been 
the safest to look forward. Perhaps you may see some 
dark clouds behind you, but remember you are meeting 
the wind, and they have passed over. However, there 
are some things which are not to be forgotten. The past 
has been rich in mercies, mercies which shine all the 
brighter out of the clouds. As to the future, we cannot 
discern much, because we are climbing an ascent, and 



,106 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

shall be all our liyes, so that we can only look down on what 
we have passecL But, oh, what a prospect shall we have 
Jram the top i 

(To Mes. Gilbbet.) 

Axminater, Feb. 1, 1814. 

XXIX. My dbab Feeeitd, — This is a part of your 
style and title which I hope does not admit of change, 
but one which, without Act of Parliament, you may con- 
tinue to wear, in addition to whatever names and honours 
you may succeed to, and this both in right of yourself 
and of your husband. .... The scenes of life pass on 
and shift, without, in general, exciting much surprise by 
the abruptness of the change. The actors remain much 
the same, though the situations yary ; and the business 
of the drama proceeds in natural and gradual succession, 
but now and then there is an evident transition, whichf 
without consulting any prompter's book, we may call a 
new act : a definite point is attained in our existence, 
from which a new series of circumstances and actions 
commences, arising from the unforeseen change. A new 
vista is opened, a new horizon formed ; and it seems that 
our individual self is composed (as you once said) of suc- 
cessive, rather than continuous being. It is more than 
interesting, it is of important advantage, when we find 
ourselves suddenly set down on a point of life which, 
when only seen in distant imagination, appeared the 
highest and brightest in the prospect, to recollect all 
the ideas which the anticipation awakened; and trans* 
migrating for a moment into the reanimated form of our 
former self, to look up at its successor, reposing on the 
Present. One important circumstance, however, which 
enters into that Present, we could not from any previous 
point anticipate ; and that is, the aspect of the Future 
from thence. If we coidd, by any power of imagination^ 



THE JOURNET OF LIFE, 107 

traDsport ouraelTes into the indefinite form of what we 
ahall be, and look at the now we oocapj on the aiher 
side, we should tiien be better enabled to appreciate, and 
perhaps to improve it. Some such knowledge of the 
future is perhaps necessary to our complete enjoyment of 
to-day. . « • • 

** To-day, with all its Uiss, be mine!" said the min- 
strel. My dear friend, I am happy I can congratuLite 
you on your Uhday. I do not know whether I should 
add, '' with all its bliss," for that is a word which seems 
to speak too much for modest prose ; and after thirty we 
drop it firom our vocabulary, firom finding no object which 
it will fit. I may congratulate you, however, on the pos* 
session of that rational happiness, or the means of that 
happiness, which, if less brilliant than the dream of Fancy, 
is more real and permanent. And after all, when the 
cause is fairly tried, I am disposed, for one, to think that 
the solid goods of life, the real sum of enjoyment (in 
spite of the cares and ills which spring up with our 
blessings) which forms the common lot, rather differ in 
their nature from the anticipations of youthful hope, 
than yield to them in degree. If I have taken a favour^ 
able moment for the estimation of life from my own 
experience, it is one when the pressure of solicitude and 
care is by no means imfelt, and when circumstances call 
for particular anxiety. I need all the elasticity of hope, 
and all the assurance of gratitude, and all the confidence 
of trust, to nerve me for the ascent on which I have 
entered 

I shall add a P.S. to this, I dare say, when I get to 
London, which I left for one day, and have not now seed 
for three weeks. Like John Gilpin, I rode much further 
than I expected, for I thought only of meeting my friends 
at Salisbury ; but after being shut up there a week by 



108 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

the snoW) I contriyed to escape here, where I have passed 
ahnost a fortnight, which has well repaid me for the 
perils of the way. I do not know whether my adventures 
have found their way into the papers yet ; but I think of 
publishing a quarto volume when I return, dedicated to 
Sir John Carr : the frontispiece, Letton Heath At mid- 
night, the mail overturned in a deep snow, and a high 
gale« But I will not anticipate its contents. 

The following is to his friend, Henry March : — 

1815. 

XXX. The receipt of your letter gave me pleasure 
before I opened it. The mere direction of a letter in 
the handwriting of a friend is interesting ; and it matters 
comparatitely little what are its contents, if it teUs us 
he is well. But the contents of jgutb were such as to 
make a letter valuable, by stirring up one*8 better feel- 
ings, and rekindling those sympathies which the world 
continually tends to extinguish. The friendship, or vir- 
tue, or feeling, that has no deeper root than in sentiment^ 
will most assuredly be blighted and withered by the 
realities of life : for sentiment itself can only exist in the 
mind when the thoughts have room to expand, and there 
is leisure for the operation. Sentiment is the blossoming 
of the thoughts ; or rather it is the thoughts running to 
seed, out of which fresh thoughts are to spring up. But 
when the quiet leisure of youth — ^the time for laying in 
thoughts and feelings, for talking of what we would or 
will do, and singing of what we have done — ^is past; 
when the present call for action incessantly occupies the 
whole mind, and we are obliged to act according to what 
we are, rather than from what we feel ; then prindples, 
not sentiments, habits produced by feeling, rather than 
feeling, will constitute the only Vasis of virtue and friend- 



FKIENDSHIP AND LOYE. 109 

ship. I do not know whether you ever read Butler's 
admirable section (in his " Analogy") on the law of our 
nature by which passive impressions become weakened 
by repetition, while active habits strengthen. It is wisely 
constituted that it should be so j and although we do* not 
like the idea of resigning any portion of our youthful 
impressibility y we soon learn that solid happiness, as well 
as virtue, consists in the exercise of the affections and 
the active powers of the mind — ^in benevolence rather 
than in sensibility. 

I scarcely know what has led me into this train of 
thought; but I have had a little experience, by this 
time, of the effects of the world upon my mind. I think 
I can say I watch with jealousy every shade of change 
which it undergoes in the process of daily action. I am 
anxious to approve myself to my fidends as the identical 
person they expected me to be ; the legitimate heir and 
successor of my former self. Tour letter put me upon 
thinking whether I had given you all that portion of my 
time, thoughts, and affections to which you were entitled 
— ^whether I had discharged all the duties of friendship. 
The expressions in your letter seemed to evince that I 
undeservedly occupy a larger place in your mind as a 
distinct object of interest than I am able to allot to any 
one of the few friends whom I esteem so highly. It is 
not that love, real love, is a narrower of the heart ; for if, 
when any particular object is once brought under the 
focus of our thoughts, we feel towards that object all we 
ever did, although those feelings may often lie dormant, 
we may allow ourselves to believe that our heart is not 
narrowed because our mind is occupied with all that is 
tender in affection and holy in duty. I often think how 
Isaac and I are now separated, who used to be as friends 
so much to each other. I believe we are in affection and 



110 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

Bentiment the same; but otu* friendsliip has become a 
transaction of the past. Pinite bemgs can onlj exist in 
time and place ; thej can onlj think in succession ; the 
eye, though it appears by the rapidity of its movements 
to take in sometimes the whole horizon at a glance, reaUy 
can only receive the impression of an inconceivably small 
portion of an object at once. In like maimer, the mind 
can only by successive operations embrace an extent or 
variety of interests, by shifting, as it were, the focus of 
affection ; and while it is fixed to any particular point, 
all the rest is fancy or memory. 

I do not know how it is, that when we meet — ^whether 
through your fault, or mine, or both — ^we often chat about 
nothings, instead of pursuing such a subject, for instance 
as this — something real, relating to our internal selves. 
I believe it is, that we see so little ot each other, that we 
hardly think it worth while to begin. But we ought not 
to suffer this. I was going on to say, that in reference 
particularly to intercessory prayer, I wish to satisfy my- 
self as to what portion should be devoted to the office 
and expression of friendship. I have often thought much 
on this subject. The mind is sometimes distracted with 
the variety of its cares and interests, as it is at others 
painfully engrossed by those which immediately press 
upon it. A formal discharge of any supposed duty of 
the kind would obviously be inefficacious, either for the 
purposes of prayer, or even for exciting the feeling of 
affectionate sympathy towards the subject of our prayers* 
Oeneral sweeping clauses of intercession always sound to 
me like unmeaning compliments. The heart is, I know, 
the best arbiter and casuist in these matters ; but still, 
as you allude to the subject, I should like to have your 
sentiments a little more distinctly upon it 

[In reference to the laat topic, it may be remarked, 



HOME. Ill 

that while mere general petitions are worthless indeed, 
if the mind rests in the vague generality, yet the form 
may be general, while the thought in the mind is specific. 
In a prayer offered aloud for others to join in, much will 
depend on the tone in which the words are spoken ; for 
tones are the language of emotion, as words of thought. 
" Thought is quick ;" and such a brief general expression 
as "Our dear firiends," spoken in a tone of genuine 
feeling, may, in a momentary pause, be interpreted and 
applied in thought to a multitude of individual eases and 
special interests. Yet, is there not room to fear that the 
duty of special intercession for one another i& (^en too 
much neglected by Christians ?] 

In the interval between the dates of the two last 
letters, a momentous and happy change had come about 
in their writer's circumstances. The prematurely sad and 
sombre views of life conveyed in some of his earlier 
letters had been happily contradicted, or at least modi- 
fied, by the fulfilment of a hope entertained through 
anxious years, when its fulfilment seemed at first impos- 
sible, and afterwards uncertain^ Poetic dreams had be- 
come sober certainty. Even the drudgery of business 
had acquired a new and inspiring motive^ it was no 
longer for himself he worked. The scene of daily care 
and toil had become Home ; for a bachelor may have a 
house, but he has no home. So, at least, thought the 
writer of these lines, penned two years earlier : — 

That Ib not home, where day by day 
I wear the busy hours away. 
That is not home, where lonely night 
Prepares me for the toils of light. 
'Tis hope, and joy, and memory, give 
A home in which the heart can live. 



112 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

These walls no lingering hopes endear ; 
No fond lemembranoe chains me here. 
Cheerless I heaye the lonely sigh — 
EuzA, need I tell thee why ? 
'Tis where thou art is home to me, 
And home without thee cannot be.* 

On the 8th of February, 1815, Mr Conder married 
the lady addressed in these lines, the second daughter 
of Boger Thomas, Esq., of Southgate, in Middlesex (de- 
ceased many years previously), and granddaughter, on her 
mother's side, of Louis Francis Boubiliac, the sculptor. 
How fitted she was — ^to use his own words — " to make 
the poetry of his life," if the biographical pen were held 
in some other hand, this might be no unfitting place to 
say. But it has been already intimated thfl^t it is not 
intended to occupy these pages with private details of 
domestic life, interesting only or chiefly to intimate per- 
sonal friends. It is enough to say, that it would be hard 
and rare to find a union in which a more perfect adapta- 
tion alike of character, taste, heart, and intellect existed ; 
or which could afford, through forty years, a larger 
amount of pure and hallowed earthly happiness. 

The new home was in St. Paul's Churchyard, Number 
Eighteen, to which Mr. Conder had removed his publish- 
ing business, and where he continued to carry it on for 
five years, till within a few weeks of the time when the 
great bell tolled out the close of the longest reign in 
English history, and old George the Third, under whose 
troubled rule the events recorded in these three chapters 
took place, slept with his fathers. The events of these 
five years do not need any elaborate chronicle. Literary 
labours went hand in hand with the cares of business. 
New literary friendships were formed, and schemes pro- 

• '< Star in the East," etc., page 101. 



FAMILY LIFE. 113 

jecied ; and the career of authorship fairly entered upon. 
London and the ledger grew less and less tolerable ; and 
country quiet and literature more and more inviting. 
Family joys brought with them the cares which are their 
usual attendants, and the sorrows which are their seldom 
absent shadows. Twice the eldest bom was left the only 
son ; and the precious remains of the second and third 
were laid to rest in the family grave, in the old Noncon- 
formist burial-ground of Bunhill Fields. The following 
extracts are from the correspondence of these years : — 

XXXT And so we have, many of us, become 

fathers and mothers, and are actuaUy in the way to oc- 
cupy the names and seats, and then the graves, of those 
who were our parents, and fondled us, and talked of what 
we should be. And now we begin to perceive that what 
appeared in our early days to be a plane, because we were 
^intent upon going onward, is in reality a sphere, on which, 
beyond a certain point, we begin to descend. And now 
we seem to be on the central spot, on which the clouds of 
infancy and the shades of age form the boundary of either 
prospect. Yet life itself is a beautiful process ; and this 
world itself, with all its frosts and storms, with eternity 
beyond, is like a clear winter's day with sunshine — ^beau- 
tiM and cheerful stiU. And what a lesson does it afford 
whenever the sun goes in — ^familiar as the occurrence is 
— and leaves the scene cold. But I am undesignedly be- 
ginning to sentimentalize, as I did before I had so much 
call for thoughts, and actions, and feelings of a busier and 
deeper kind than sentiment knows of It is the first 
time I have moralized on becoming a father ; nor have I 
written a poem on the occasion. 



114 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

August, 1816. 

XXXII Your fetters are always interestmg 

because they are full of character. I congratulate you 
most heartily on having attained this point ; that you 
have tried on your armour, and gone through the ma- 
ncBuvres of theological exercise, preparatory to taking the 
field in earnest. Seven times a week, however, would 
soon wear out a veteran, and you must therefore allow 
me to charge you with great imprudence in putting your 
bodily strength to so severe a trial. I do anticipate, 
March, much good, should Providence favour you with 
competent health, from that sincere application of the 
whole force of your mind and character which you will 
bring to the ministerial office. How rarely, I fear, does 
a young minister commence his career with the ardour 
inspired by simple motives, and in the strength of devotion! 
It is not simply as your friend that I feel interested in 
the event. I have told you before, that it is with more 
than ordinary sympathy I contemplate your devoting 
yourself to that work in which I sometimes think, had 
not Providence so clearly appointed me to other duties, 
I could have found the employment most congenial to 
my character. I think there is that degree of similarity 
between us, that may allow me to feel as if you were 
about to realize the very part I should have wished to 
sustain. This, however, is my post, and, as Milton beau- 
tifully says — 

** They also seorre who only ttamd and wait.*' 

The discipline of mind which I have undergone, and 
which I must still undergo in business, is, I am deeply 
convinced, of the most salutary kind. The reiptrntUnU- 
ties of business, the incessant activity, the degree of fore- 
sight it requires, the feeling of dependence on others, the 



DRAWBACKS AND COMPENSATIONS. 115 

necessity of self-command and caution, and a measured 
tone and manner, which attach to the situation of a trades- 
man, are all calculated to have a maturing influence on 
the character, considered as an educational process. But 
the world is, in this form, a severe schoolmaster ; it is 
well if he teaches us the lesson of Christ. I know I hav^ 
still so much indolence of mind left, so much of the 
atheistical pride of independence, and so much love for 
the world, in the form of refined luxury, that I may need 
to be kept under by the discipline of anxious carefiilness. 
But it is hard, very hard, to be quite resigned, cheerfully 
and implicitly resigned, to the appointments of Provi- 
dence, under circumstances which leave little pause for 
collected thought and for the quiet acts of faith and 
gratitude, which fritter away the mind by a succession 
of insect attacks. 

You see that I am availing myself of your invitation 
to deviate into a strain of egotism, in which, the older 
I grow the less disposed I am to indulge. Jt is difficult 
to make one's self understood. One does noi want to be 
encountered by some religious truism, which, however 
applicable to the case, may be wholly inefficient as a pre- 
scription to the feelings. You will not, I think, have 
misunderstood what I have written as dictated by the 
morbid spirit of complaint. I have nothing to complain 
of but myself; but the hurry, the exhaustion of mind, 
the petty vexations to which I am subject, make me pant, 
sometimes too impatiently perhaps, for some more quiet, 
more retired sphere. London is a hateful place ; and the 
loss of such friends as Benjamin Neal makes it appear 
still less endurable. But what I most feel is, that I can 
BO seldom sit down in my dear home, and enjoy the sweet 
sunslune of love, in its purest earthly form, in tranquillity. 
How contemptible as an object, how all-essential as a 



116 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

means, does money then seem! These are trials and 
temptoHofu, March, which, if your talents do but intro- 
duce you into a situation of eompetenee, it is probable you 
will never realize. You will, doubtless, have others, 
adapted to your character ; you have had others. Loss 
of health is, I am convinced, one that is often lightly 
depreciated: it is a great mercy to enjoy animal life. 
Nothing affects my constitutional cheerfulness, scarcely 
anything, but the physical frame's suffering from anxiety 
or want of proper circulation. When this is the case, I 
am not without misgivings that I am not invulnerably 
strong. We do not know what we are reserved for, or 
what is reserved for us. But whichsoever of us has the 
shortest task to fulfil, the least arduous warfare to dis- 
charge, may we but at length obtain the free gift we can- 
not merit ! 

*' There ie a home, there is a rest, 
There is a heayen in yiew." 

But how much easier is it to be tired of earth, than 
to be heavenly-minded ! I have many, and strong, and 
tender ties to earth, which make me love life. It is 
a burden I should, doubtless, fear to lay down. In every 
form, futurity is awful. Oh, to be kept, and guided, 
and sustained by Omnipotent Mercy unto tdlvaium ! 

I have no room for other topics. As to Dissent, in 
my most solemn moments I think I moH deeply feel the 
importance of the principles on which it rests. Do not 
hold them loosely. 

October, 1818. 
XXXIII I rejoice most unfeignedly in the ani- 
mating prospect of usefulness which has unfolded before 
you, and I feel the more interest in it, as I fancy yours is 
precisely the kind of situation which I should delight to 



AUTHORSHIP. 117 

occupy. Not that I indulge a wish of this kind. I am 
satisfied that I am where I am placed^ and any change 
that appears to me desirable, I wish to be madeybr me 
rather than by myself. The tranquillity of the country, 
however, is a good, and when it can be enjoyed in 
connection with active useMness, and an occupation 
favourable to spirituality of character, it presents cer- 
tainly the circumstantial means of happiness. You have 
doubtless some alloy, some secret bitterness ; discipline 
must be going forward. I do not ask what it is, but I 
believe there must be something of trial mixed with every 
dispensation of mercy, in order that the work of sanctifi- 
cation may stiU be going on. And if the external is all 
cahn and serene, the fears, and doubts, and corruptions 
of the heart turn against a man, and these become his 
trial. In choosing or changing for ourselves, we cannot 
know what we take as the encumbrances of the new situa- 
tion; but we may be sure there is some mortgage to 
Care or Sorrow upon it. It is the only safe way to take 
what is given us ; and you have the. satis&ction of having 
acted thus, and have therefore the assurance that you are 
weU provided for. 

.... You are to tell me what you think of my 
book. As I expected, some of ^he statements have ex- 
cited discussion. Bishop, of Singwood, has written to me 
upon some points which he deemed exceptionable. They 
relate to the nature of the visible Church, the terms of 
communion, etc. Dr. Winter advanced some positions 
on the subject, in accordance with my views, in the la^t 
monthly meeting sermon (which I suppose will be printed), 
and your tutor. Dr. S., found fault with them, as well as 
(I believe) some others. Dissenters want to have their 
minds brushed up and cleared from the cobwebs in many 
jrespects. 



118 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

The work here referred to was Mr. Conder's, first 
considerable original publication, a treatise *' On Protest- 
ant Nonconformity/' in two octavo volumes, printed in 
1818. The second edition, in one volume 12mo, was pub- 
lished in 1822. The work had been for some years in 
preparation, and is thus referred to in a letter written 
about two years before its issuing from the press : — ** I 
am fearful that I shall not be able to supply a work of 
the exact description you mention — a 'vade meeum, or 
text-book of principles, calculated for constant and easy 
reference.* Bobert Eobinson would have been the man 
to furnish a book of this kind, and it would require a 
pen not less vigorous than his to compose lectures upon 
Nonconformity deserving of constant reference. I hope 
I may do some good by supplying an argumentative 
treatise on the fundamental principles of Nonconformity, 
which, as a whole, may serve to show that those princi- 
ples are dedudble from the nature of religion, the design 
of Christianjity, the laws of moral agency, and the decla- 
rations of the New Testament." 

At the close of the year 1810 (considerable part of 
the autumn of which was spent at Hastings, for the benefit 
of Mrs. Gender's health), Mr. Gonder disposed of his 
business to Messrs. Holdsworth and Ball, and removed 
to the neighbourhood of St. Albans, Hertfordshire, de- 
voting himself thenceforward to the pursuit of literature 
as a profession. 

The following brief private memoranda show that so 
important and decisive a step was not adopted but after 
much anxiety, and with earnest prayer for Divine 
guidance: — 

Dee. 27, 1818. — ^Mem. Make more a conscience of 
prayer-meetings, and interceding for the church and its 



MEDITATIONS. 119 

pastor. 1 haye been deficient in this. Improve what I 
have, as I would secure higher privileges in the event of 
a removal. 

I am closing a year of many trials, but all tempered 
by mercy. Dear Charles, how easy and beautiful his 
death ! How my dear wife was sustained and endeared 
to me ! The robbery — how much worse it might have 
been ! And so of E— 's illness, and my father's ; and 
80 of this last trial in the dear babe ; and so of pecuniary 
losses and difficulties. 

Need I fear intrusting my all to the same all-wise 
and merciM disposal P Gon is love. Oh, to feel this 
at heart! 

Still I must wait till the cloud moves forward. I 
have no longer any wish, I believe, as respects either 
town or country ; but only, if it be the wiU of Q-od, to 
enjoy more leisure and serenity of mind by being made 
easier in my business, and saved from anxieties on the 
score of characters. I trust this will be given me, if it 
be for my good. " Show me the way wherein I should 
walk, for I lifb up my soul unto Thee." 

I believe I am not above my business, though Mends 
represent that it is a pity I should be so employed ; but 
God has put me to it— He must remove me. Yet the 
growing feeling of unfitness is very discouraging — ^unfit- 
ness from circumstances which discourage me ; the want 
of requisite assistance ; continued perplexity. 

Oh, for more grace ! Be this my daily prayer ; and 
that the design of the present may be fulfilled in me, as 
the best preparation for the future. I commit my way 
to Thee. If I am thine, blessed I^ord, Thou wilt provide 
for me. 

Homerton, July 4, 1819. — ^The Lord has heard me, 
and delivered me from the burden, and made the path 



120 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

clear. Oh, that the depth and permanence of my grati- 
tude might bear some proportion to the eamestness of 
my supplications. Let me remember, " Were there not 
ten cleansed ? " 

How shall I praise Him ? By a frequent review of 
the way He has led me, the interpositions He has wrought 
for me ; by caring more for the things of the Lord, now 
I am less burdened with worldly carefulness ; by trusting 
Him more implicitly ; by walking with Him in purity and 
spirituality ; by setting apart more time for the closet. 
Lord, help me ! 

Lord, thou knowest that I have besought Thee with 
tears, that this change, if oyer realized, might conduce to 
my spiritual adyantage and my usefulness ; but hitherto 
my mind has been confused, hurried, and worldly. Oh, 
make me to feel thy loye in the bestowment of the 
prayed-for blessing. Thou hast been nigh in trouble, be 
not now £ur from me. Let not unbelief or a careless 
worldly frame spoil all the good Thou designest me ; let 
me not haye in the prayed-for blessing less than I prayed 
for, through the withdrawment of thy grace. 

I am not my own. This day I haye been again re- 
cognising that blessed truth. I am bought with a price. 
Infinite loye is asserting its claims to my whole being. 

'* Thou hast dearly bought my soul. 
Lord, accept and cUuxn the whole ! 
Come, and make thy blest abode i 

In my heart, thou Son of Gh)d !*' 

Oh, may I feel the Great Lihabitant within me, and 
feel myself more, though worthless and vile in myself, a ' 
consecrated thing ! 

May I be more awake to the grand conflict ! What 
am I doing for the kingdom that shall come P Am I 



MEDITATIOXS. 121 

fighting for Christ ? How would loye to Him set all 
right within me ? 

O God, with my whole heart have I sought Thee, let 
me not wander fi'om thy commandments. Blessed Sa- 
Tiour, pray for me, that my faith fail not, and let thy 
grace be sufficient for me. Oh, that I may find the cir- 
cumstances in which I am now placed more congenial, 
not simply to my taste, to my native character, but to 
the tendencies of thy grace within me. 

Sept. 5, 1819.— Eead La Fl^chier's Life with dif- 
ferent impressions from those prodticed by a former 
perusal. Yes: such would I be. This book, and the 
"Memoirs of Martyn," have given me new ideas of living 
Christianity. It is with such men I want to come in 
contact. Hqw do our associations, owing to the low 
tone of religion among us, dwarf our characters ! It 
is my earnest prayer that, in removing, I may be di- 
rected to the neighbourhood of some simple Christians, 
with whom I may delight in going to the house of 
prayer in company, not on the Lord's day only, but on 
other days. 

There is no satis&ction in religion if it is not the 
ever^hing with us, the source of our daily pleasure as 
weU as strength ; if in circumstances of comfort, no less 
than in seasons of trial, we are not looking to prayer, and 
£uth, and communion with God, to make up the main 
happiness of the day, and viewing other things as sub- 
sidiary comforts. This is the only solid, secure ground 
of dependence. "In the world, tribulation; in Me, 
peace." As Leighton says, a blessed legacy, taken al- 
together. 

" Let him deny tmnselfy In what do I deny myself? 
Literally, nothing. I have every comfort. 



122 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

" Hem do thy merdifls dose me round! 
For ever be thy name adored ! 
I blush in all thmgs to abound : 
The servant is above his Lord.** 

(IFealey, 220.) 

I seem to have this sign of my Christianity to seek. And 
yet, is there no scope for self-denial in the conduct of m j 
thoughts, in reference to sloth, Tanity, carnality? No; 
Christ cannot be followed without self-denial under any 
circumstances ; the imitation of his holy example in- 
volves a perpetual denial of self; and self cannot be 
denied otherwise than by supernatural strength. It 
must be because I do not follow Christ that I do not 
know more of what is implied by self-denial. Lord, caU 
me, that I may follow Thee with a perfect heart ! 

I contemplate the ministerial work with very different 
feelings from what I have done. I see and feel that I 
want the first requisite — a heart overflowing with Divine 
love towards sinners. I want other requisites of the 
nature of habit ; but this is the chief. It would be irk« 
some beyond endurance without this change in my 
character, unless I sank down into the mechanical per- 
formance of the function. In the one case, one would 
have to pump up motive to the work ; in the other case, 
habit is having the water laid on. But neither will do : 
it must come from the weU-spring of devout feeling.* 

I have no plans, no wishes for the future, but some- 
times a sinful dread of the great trials which I imagine 

* Later yean, and growing acquaintance with human nature^ would 
probably have modified this remark ; as practical experience of the minis* 
try could hardly have fiuled to do. The deepest feelings are not always 
overflowing. The founts of emotion are ofbea like those ebbing and 
flowing wells, which have perhapa sunk out of reach when the thirsly 
pilgrim comes to dip his pitcher; and anon are idly brimming over in 



MEDITATIONS. ' 123 

my character needs. But this is to limit the wisdom and 
to distrust the love and sufficiency of God. Yet, O Lord, 
I know and assuredly believe that Thou art all*suffieient, 
and that by thy grace there are no possible evils in which 
I might not be made to feel this. I only tremble at being 
stripped of earthly goods, without having faith to embrace 
the infinite equivalent. Jesus, have mercy on my imbe- 
cility and infirmity, and spare me the light of my eyes ! 
" Fit me to serve or suffer." Help me to obey and to 
trust. 

Let me think, " I wiU look at Gk>d only to make me 
happy to-day ;" and then, " I will look to God to provide 
for to-morrow." I am wondering where our home will 
be. It is fixed. He knows it. Is not that enough ? 
Oh, how much greater things hath He done for me than 
fin4 me a house ! We are astonished at the incurable 
distrust of the disciples, after witnessing successive mira» 
cles wrought for their safety or deliverance ; but it is the 
human heart, and I find it to be so. But would not 
perfect love cast out this unchild-like fear ? A conscious- 
ness of guilt and unbelief are the onh/ sources of such 
unworthy solicitude. 

Dec. 19. — ^He hath found us a house, one in every 
respect to our taste ; and now I am ready to ask, How 
long am I to stay here ? Oh, incurable imbecility ! Here 
is a firesh tie to earth — ^a larger portion of worldly good 
introduced into my afiections. Will their healthful ac- 
tion suffer no abatement from the subtile poison P Will 
there need no neutralizing ingredient ? Will there be 

solitude with wasted affluence. Only the still silent depths of con- 
viction, the hidden reserroir into which the showers of heaven have 
slowly filtered, keeping it ever unexhausted, can £9ed and fill the 
channels of action with motives ever firesh, and pure^ and strong, and 
adequate to all the exhausting demaads of daily duty. 



124 CITIZEN AND HUSBAND. 

no earthy tincture, as the effect of so much more of earth 
absorbed into one*s self P "If any man hate not home*' 
etc., ** for 'my sake." This is a part of what I must be 
ready to resign at once for Christ. Oh, let me hold it 
loosely, unanxiously ! It is not home ; not meant for our 
rest. The glory of the second Temple was the presence 
of Christ; and what can be the beauty of an earthly 
residence but his presence ? How easily might this fair 
scene be transcendently surpassed by a darksome com- 
fortless cottage, where there was the felt and visible 
manifestation of God! But yet, this is the house to 
which his gracious Providence has brought me ; and I 
trust in Him to make it a scene of happy hours. And it 
must be always right, and always safe, to praise Him for 
all He does, and to trust Him for all He has promised. 
Distrust and ingratitude always go together : Oh, to be 
delivered from them ! 



CHAPTEE IV. 

THE "eclectic EEVIEW" — ^FEIENDS AND 
COKTBIBUTOBS. 

" The JEcleetie Bevieto was commenced, in 1805, by a num- 
ber of gentlemen wbo were Bolicitons to rescue the litera- 
ture of their country from the dogmatiBm of superficial cri- 
tics, and the irreligious influence of a semi-infidel party." 
A new series was commenced in 1814, ^^ published by 
Josiah Conder, 18, St. Paul's Churchyard." After some 
changes of editorship, during which he had occasionally 
to edit the Beview himself, Mr. Conder became its stated 
editor, as well as proprietor. In his address on the com- 
mencement of a Third Series, fifteen years afterwards, he 
says : — 

With regard to the principles of the work, they are too well 
known to require avowal, except for the purpose of showing that they 
cannot be abandoned. The original design of the proprietors has 
never been lost sight of, which was to reconcile those long-divorced 
parties, Beiigion and literature — ^to create or cherish the love of 
literature in the Christian world, and to watch over the interests of 
religion as implicated in 'our literature. It rests its claim to public 
support on bdng the only CriHedl Jowmal embracing the wide 
range of general literature, which is conducted with this view, and 
explicitly upon evangelical principles. It may also be affirmed, with- 
out disparaging the merit or usefulness of other periodicals, that in the 
pages of no other journal will there be found a record of the various 
productions and progress of literature in England dunng the past four* 
and-twenty years, to which the Christian scholar wUl be able to refer 
with equal confidence and satis£su!tion. This assertion is made in 
reference chiefly to the plan and principles of the Journal, although 



126 THE ECLECTIC. 

there is no oooaaion lor affecting to shrink from any comparisoii as to 
the general character of its articles. As Editor, how inadequately 
Boeyer I may feel to hare dischaiged the office^ during the years that it 
has derolyed upon me, I can take no lower ground in speaking of the 

writers With regard to the minor differences which diride the 

Christian world, they never hare been^ they nerer shall be, suffered to 
intrude into the r^on of literature so as to influence a critical deci- 
sion. There exists an anxious wish to merge those differences, so 6r 
as is compatible with a firm maintenance of the principles of religious 
liberty, and the honest dischaige of the duties imposed upon a r»- 
yiewer, in refisrenoe to questions of biblical criticism, ecclesiastical his- 
tory, and biblical theology. In reference to these subjects, a negatiye 
Opinion, or a silent one, would inyolye a dereliction of principle^ by 
which not eyen the interests of charity could be subseryed. 

I^ from the known sentiments of writers whom I am proud to 
rank among my friends and contributors, the JEcUctie Meview should 
be deemed the organ or the adyocate of any denomination or reli- 
gious party, I can only say that nothing can be more unfisttered by 
any ties of interest or obligation than the conduct of this JoumaL 
With regard to any such connection, I must be permitted to reply, in 
the language of the iQustrious Colonel Hutchinson, I haye not chosen 
the party, but the principles they profisss $ and I am not therefore so 
unreasonable as to expect their gratitude for services and sacrifloes 
which they might be more ready to daun as their due, than kindly to 
appreciate. 

Mr. Gonder continued to conduct the Bemew for a 
period of twenty yean, often contributing largely to its 
pages. Among the stated or occasional contributors, 
were some whose names have since risen to the highest 
rank in literature ; others, of accomplished scholarship, 
elegant taste, and scarcely inferior intellectual power, 
yet who neyer made themselyes a name, but were con* 
tent to fight the battle of knowledge and of progress 
in the ranks of that great army of anonymous writers, to 
whom the worldhas been so much indebted, from the days 
of Job of Uz, to the days of steam-printing and penny 
literature. It is a curious topic of reflection, how much of 



THE ECLECTIC. 127 

the current gold of humiMi thought and speech has come 
down with no image or superscription upon it ; how many 
strong and stirring, wise and pointed, or sweet and tender 
sayings, that have become immortal, were uttered by un« 
known or forgotten lips. It would be somewhat melan- 
choly to think of so much hard, faithful, fruitful labour, 
wrought in obscurity, and^ung into the world's treasury 
without the grace of a single acknowledgment, did one 
not remember that literary fame is, after all — ^the giants 
excepted — ^but a tardier oblivion ; and, on the other hand, 
that no true work can perish, no fruitful labour can be 
yain, and though the world may forget it, "the Day shall 
reveal it." 

Mr. Condor's connection with the Eclectic no doubt 
exercised a powerful influence both on his mind and on his 
career. It seems to have been the chief link between his 
London life as a man of business, and his country life as 
a man of literature. It tended powerfully to form his 
style as a prose writer ; to develope the critical and ana- 
lytical faculties of his mind, perhaps at the expense of the 
poetical ; and to render him at home and weU informed 
in a vast and miscellaneous range of subjects, rather than 
profound and erudite in any one. It may be said that 
his natural powers were so equaJly«balanced as to have 
been capable of receiving a strong impulse in several dis- 
tinct directions : his labours as a Beviewer, and afterwards 
as a Compiler, rendered criticism, analysis, and interpre- 
tation the most prominent and powerful of his intellectual 
habits. The proprietorship and editorship of the Beview, 
moreover, naturally led to the formation of many literary 
friendships. Even a brief memoir of his Hterary career 
would seem scarcely complete, without the side-light 
shed upon it from the letters of some of his most distin- 
guished literary friends. The materials of the present 






128 THE ECLECTIC, 

chapter, therefore, are (selected from those portions of 
this correspondence which appear the most worth giving 
to the public ; and they will be read with liyely interest 
for their own sake, apart &om their connection with the 
present memoir. Those of Mr. Montgomery and Mr, 
Foster are selected £rom a mass sufficient to form a 
volume. They would, ito doubt, have been handed over 
to the biographers of those eminent men, but that they 
were at the time out of reach, Mr. Hall's letters, of 
which one or two are here given, are brief and few, the 
illegible penmanship and occasional errors plainly show- 
ing how irksome was the use of the pen to the great 
preacher ; but they are not without characteristic touches 
worth preserving. Southey's letters are thoroughly cha- 
racteristic ; and the contrast which they present to Mont* 
gomery's is very striking and suggestive. The remark- 
able and touching letter from Ebenezer Elliott, "the 
Corn-law Bhymer," was not addressed to Mr. Conder, 
but forwarded to him by Dr. Pye Smith, with the hope 
that the Eclectic might aid the almost despairing poet in. 
his struggle up the steep path of fame. It possesses 
such a profound and affecting interest, that it deserves 
not to be lost. Yet the Editor would not venture to 
print it, but in the •belief that it will be read, not with 
cold curiosity, but with deep sympathy for the passionate 
inward conflict of a proud and gifted spirit, wrestling 
fiercely with difficulties to which a feebler nature would 
have succumbed. 



Ebom James Movtoomsbt, Esq. 

SheiBeld, Deo. 18, 1808. 
I. Deas Sis, — ^I recollect that I promised to tell you 
how I liked the "Original Poems for Infant Minds,'' 



f 

I 



» 

J: 



JAMES MONTGOMEEY. 129 

when I had read them. Criticism is to me such dry and 
dreadful work, that I shall say in as few words as pos- 
sible, just to redeem my promise, that I have been much 
better pleased with them than with many more ostenta- 
tious volumes, written for infants of larger growth than 
these Lilliputian pieces, which have very extraordinary 
merit (and the greater merit, because it required so 
much self-denial, where there was both talent and temp- 
tation to go gloriously astray). They are composed 
precisely to the standard of the capacities to which they 
are addressed ; yet have ingenuity and elegance enough 
to delight minds of ally standard above idiotism, and 
below the intelligence of angels. There is a vein of 
originality that flows through them—originaUty from the 
purest and most inexhaustible source, actual observation, 
and genuine feeling. Fiction has been supposed, merely 
because it has been said (at least, I know no 'other reason 
for it) to be essential to poetry. I deny it. Truth is 
the very soul of poetry, and poetry is the very body of 
truth ; every feeling, every sentiment, every description in 
poetry, to please, «wt^ be true; and aU are agreed on this 
point, who are agreed on nothing else concerning poetry, 
that it is its first and most indispensable requisite to 
please. Now I appeal to your own heart whether (as far 
as you are sure that your taste is sound, and that you do 
not mistake factitious feelings for real ones) you are ever 
delighted with anything in poetry that is false — ^false 
imagery, false thoughts, false character, false feelings? 
No, surely; and why are you so much more charmed 
with these unpretending little pieces than with thousands 
of great ones, more swelling in style, and more laboured 
in subject ? Because the former are aU breathing with 
truth, the latter dull, dead, and detestable affectation — 
and what is affectation but fiction ? Fiction is allowable 



1 30 CORKE8PONDENT8. 

in the form of poetry — ^that is, rather, the form of fiction 
is allowable in poetiy ; for still the soul of the poetry is 
truth, and fiction stands in the place of truth, not to 
deceive, but to attract greater reverence and attention 
from volatile and capricious man. Fiction, you observe, 
in these cases is not opposed to truth as a rival, but at 
her side as a handmaid; or, to change the metaphor, 
fiction here is a mask which truth puts on, to make her 
lovers desire the more to see her countenance. But I 
must have done with this. I am glad I have no room left 
to find faidt with these poems, that have afforded me such 
simple, yet high gratification. I think the verse is some- 
times too harsh ; the anapsBstic pieces, in particular, are 
very ruggedly written, and there are now and then rhymes 
that box my ears, such as vol. i. p. 97, moon and gloom ; 
vol. ii., Miser and Eliza ! Fie ! 

When I met you at Mr. Gregory's, I remember 
speaking very disrespectfully — ^I often say very rash 
things from mere impulse — of Pope's simile, " Alps rise 
on Alps," etc., which you, I think, had been praising. I 
did not condemn the comparison or depreciate it, but I 
said it was stolen. I was sorry afterwards, because I 
could not then prove my words ; and it was too much to 
expect that you woidd take them, in such a case, for 
granted. I knew that I had met with something resem- 
bling that famous simile in one of our old poets ; but on 
ransacking my memory while I was in London, I de- 
spaired of finding out in whom I had seen it. I found 
the passage accidentally the other day, which I had in 
the general idea when I was at Woolwich, but could not 
then quote a word of it. It is in Drummond's Poems 
(of Hawthomden). The whole passage is transcendently 
beautiful. Here it is : — 



JAMES MONTGOMERY. 131 

** Great Architect ! Lord of this uniTeane ! 
That dght is blinded would thy greatDess piense. 
Ah ! as a piJgiiin who the Alps doth paas, 
Or Atlas* temples, arowned with wjntar-glass, 
The airy Caucasus, the Apennine, 
Pyrenees* difts, where sun doth never shine^ 
When he some craggy hills hath overwent, 
Begins to think on rest, his journey spent. 
Till, mounting some tall mountain, he doth find 
More heights before him than he left behind : 
With halting pace, so while I would me raise 
To the unbounded limits of thy praise, 
Some part of way I thought to have o*errun. 
But now I see how scarce I have begun. 
With wonders new my spirits range posseet^ 
And wandering wayless, in a maie them rest.*' 

Symn on the Fairut Fai/r, 

I do not know that this original of Pope's admired 
and admirable simile has been pointed out \>j anj of his 
commentators — ^most probably it has; and perhaps the 
image itself might be traced to antiquity, it is so striking 
and beautiful. I have read Sm3rtli's Poems with all the 
delight that they are calculated to inspire in some places, 
and with all the indifference that others inevitably induce 
over jBuch dull soids as mine. He is never so much a 
poet as when he speaks of himself as one. Then^ indeed, 
the poet breaks through the cloud of the man, and shines 
in " the heaven of invention." I feel all his warmth, I 
lie down in his beams, and existence is enjoyment. In 
his love pieces, too, he is often exquisitely tender, and 
impassioned almost to ecstasy, without being licentious. 
On other subjects he is reaJly to me very frequently 
heavy, obscure, and pedantic. This is bold criticism ; I 
fear there is more sincerity than prudence in my thus 
venturing to sit in judgment on a living author. Is he 
not a man and a brother P Yes, truly, apd he has the 



132 CORRESPONDENTS. 

faults of both, or be is no man and no brother of mine. 
The stanzas *' To Laura" are, in my poor estimation, in- 
comparably the finest in the yoliune ; I know nothing in 
Collins superior to them. I have not a line lefb to 
.criticise your own Terses; I saw some in the last 
AtheruBum. They were worthy of you ; will you take a 
poet's hint ? Ahvays write your begt, and every time you 
will write better. Eemember me respectfully to your 
father and family. Be assured yourself of my sincere 
esteem and my earnest wishes for your ^welfare, as one 
who would be immortal both in this world and in that 
which is to come. Farewell. I am truly your Mend 
and servant, 

J. MOITTOOMEBT. 

Sheffield, July 25, 1809. 
II I find that if I wait for leisure and dispo- 
sition to write to you, I may never write at all. I there- 
fore sit down, at the close of a newspaper day, to address 
you in such terms as may come without invoking the 
epistolary Muse, if there be such a lady, though I am un- 
acquainted with her ; yet in such terms as will not &il 
to please, because they will be the language of simplicity 
and truth. . . . The poem to ** Fancy'* is more airy and 
elegant in thought, than either in expression or versifi- 
cation ; that is, it is best in what is best, and fails only 
in what is of secondary importance. Such as it is, I have 
no doubt that ere now it haa been read with rapture by 
Bobin Gfoodfellow to Queen Mab and her maids of 
honour under a tuft of cowslips, while the summer moon- 
light slept upon the ground. Thank you for the Nursery 
Bhymes. My opinion of them I presume you saw in the 
IrU, which I sent you, containing a specimen, with a note 
of recommendation. I think this Lilliputian volume in 



JAMES MONTGOMERY. 133 

every respect worthy of the fair and truly ingenious 
authors of the " Original Poems.'* You certainly have 
as good a title to the "Alps" as either Drummond or 
Pope, and your Muse did right to moidd them into a 
new-year simile of her own. At the same time, I dare 
not swear that the critics woidd not condemn it as con- 
traband, though Pope's is more plainly a plagiarism than 

yours can feirly be deemed I was greatly pleased 

and interested in the account which you give of the cir- 
cumstances that awakened and have cherished poetical 
feelings in your bteast. Their delightM and exhilaarating 
influence you seem to have enjoyed ; may you continue 
to enjoy it ; but remember that they must be kept in 
subjection to duty, conscience, and self-interest — self- 
interest rightly understood, which prompts us to seek 
present and eternal happiness only in the ways of wisdom 
and the paths of peace. O if ever you slacken the reins 
of these fiery and impetuous feelings (which under due 
government wiU carry you round heaven and earth in 
the chariot of Poesy), your fate wiU be as deplorable as 
that of Phaeton, when he attempted to drive the horses 
of the sun, slipped, and made an anti-climax of his neck. 
I have been forced to let myself down by this imlucky 
anti-cHmax from the height of the foregoing simile, in the 
middle of which I was interrupted, and at the end of two 
days have not patience — even if I had time and space, 
though both are wanting — ^to work myself up into the 
sublime mood, in which I was dictating poetic oracles to 
you on Tuesday evening. I shall lose this post if I do 
not make haste ; and as I am all in a hurry of preparation 
to leave Sheffield to go for a month to Scarborough, I am 
determined to hold Time by the heel, for I cannot get at 
his forelock, while I run my eye over the margin of your 
MS. poem on "Silence," and just pen down one or two of 



134 CORRESPONDENTS. 

the ill-natured things that I have written on it in short- 
hand. Imprimis, a poem on silence is a poem on tuh 
thing : silence is a negati/oe. This is not carping, or even 
JSoleotio criticism, which you seem to dread so much ; it 
is a toUd ground of objection against a poem cast on 
your plan. Tou have displayed powers of imagination 
jGeut beyond anything I had expected of your genius, 
highly as I thought of it before ; yet you have failed — 
and an ar^^hangel would fail in the same way, though, 
perhaps, not in the same degree — to make silence a dis* 
tvnet and conmtent being. The thing is impossible, and 
therefore be not discouraged by this harsh (only appa- 
rently harsh) condemnation. Whatever actions or attri- 
bates you may give to silence personified, you might give 
to a hundred other imaginary personages. For example, 
to confine myself to your first and second paragraphs. Is 
Silence more the sister of Chaos than night or uproar 
might be styled P Does Silence '* tit at the feet of Deity," 
^^ioalh on the revolving spheres,*' ^^looh dovonfromihe skies** 
upon the earth, or (^^Z/ among the Alps, where a breath may 
bring down an avalanche, and scare away the goddess P 
All this might do well in metaphor, but it is incongruous 
in extended allegory. The fault I find, if I can make 
myself understood, is, that none of these things are cha^ 
raeteristie of her, and of her alone; for in truth Silence 
has only one characteristic — and that I confess sufficiently 
striking to distinguish her firom all her sex — holding her 
tongue ! The moment she speaks, or hears, or moves, she 
vanishes into nonentity, and no charm of poetry can 

possibly hold her My time is expired, as well as 

my paper and my strength exhausted. I have a pain in 
my breast so severe when I lean an hour over a desk, as 
to make me very low indeed. This alone ought to ex- 
onerate me for twelve months, if I live so long, from 



JAMES MONTGOMERY. 135 

answering the kindest letters. I will only add, that your 
poem on "Silence" has more beauties than I could number 
and describe, had I this whole sheet unoccupied before 
me. Therefore do not imagine that I am sensible only 
of its radical defect. 

Sheffield, Jan. 19, 1810. 

III. I take a large sheet of paper, because I intend 
to write a short letter ; and it frequently happens with 
me, that when I sit down with that determination, the 
thoughts come so thick upon me towards the close, that 
I am forced to crowd more into the last ten lines than 
would eke out three pages in a fair round hand ; a cir- 
cumstance prodigiously proToking when one is inditing a 
random scrawl on the very back of Time, between his 
wings, and while he flies fiill speed after his unapproach- 
able forelock. !N'ow, as I am almost persuaded that these 
malicious thoughts lie in ambush in the brain, and watch 
the opportunity to rush upon me the moment they see 
that there is no room left for them, I am resolved to be 
beforehand with them on this occasion at least ; and as I 
reaUy have almost nothing to say, and not a minute to 
waste in saying less than nothing — ^that is, such stuff as 
this preamble is made of — ^I wiU, as briefly as may be, 
answer the main points of your two last obliging letters ; 
and this I hope to do before I get to that part of the 
paper when ideas Ught like a swarm of hornets on my 
head, and sting me to distraction for want of a place to 

shake them off.- The precious extract from Miss T 's 

letter respecting the intended volume of the Band of 
Minstrels, was very refreshing to one whose spirits at 
that time were struggling with unprecedented difficulties, 
and 8ore diacauragementsfrom other friends^ in the com* 
position of that long poem with which I have secretly 
threatened the public. I finished it on the last Saturday 



136 . CORRESPONDENTS. 

of the old jear, and have been Isaming to breathe ever 
since. While this growing mountain lay on my breast 
for seven months with increasing pressure, I scarcely could 
draw a peaceful breath, but gasped like a iish which has 
leaped upon the leaf of a water-lily, and cannot return 
into its element without falling into the jaws of a pur- 
suing pike. But though this tremendous work is thus 
completed — save the bitter penance of revisal — I know 
not whether I shall publish it this season or no,' as Mr. 
Bowyer, for ever varying his plans and perplexing me 
with his delays, has latelyj made some proposals which 
will, perhaps, issue in my publishing the "West Indies" 
as the leading piece of my next volume, instead of the 
" World before the Flood." 

... I am well pleased with the alterations which 
you quote from your amended poem of "Silence." I 
knew that if you merely sat down to transcribe, you 
would greatly improve and enrich it with new graces and 
expressions, that would spontaneously sparkle out of the 
subject. The altered stanza in your poem to " Fancy" is 
very lovely in itself; and whether you intended it or no, 
contains a most exquisite allusion to Orpheus in the 
Shades, redeeming his lost Eurydice by the enchantment 
of his lyre. Tour motto, it seems, is from Hurdis : I 
have no objection to make against either the poetry or the 
application of it ; I only notice it to say that Hurdis is 
no favourite of mine. Both his sublimity and his humour 
are equally forced ; plants of Parnassus they were, I ac- 
knowledge, but raised in the hothouse of Cambridge. 
There is, however, sometimes a mingled touch of plea- 
santry and pathos in his pieces that is instantaneously 
and permanently affecting — an unquestionable proof of 
the power of genius, paralysed by pedantry and bad taste, 
it generally appears to me. You, however, may like him 



JAMES MONTGOMERY. 137 

as much as you please, only do not make him your models 
even in bis best moods and most becoming apparel. The 
form of dedication which you propose pleases me exceed- 
ingly, and will honour me more than twenty pages filled 
with all the eloquences of eulogium by which Dry den was 
at once distinguished and disgraced. 

Sheffield, May 6, 1810. 

rV I believe I ought to acknowledge the 

honour which the " Associate Minstrels" have done me, 
by their graceful dedication, in a congratulatory ode, re- 
counting their merits and foretelling their future glories. 
But I am so entirely unaccustomed to write panegyrical 
or even complimentary verses, that I must, in plain prose 
and in plain truth, tell them, through you, that I most 
sincerely and fervently thank them for the most pleasing 
and elegant token of unbribed and unexpected approba- 
tion which I have yet received in public for the labours 
of my Muse. Thank them, therefore, individually, and 
thank them collectively ; their kindness is not the less 
estimable because, except yourself, they are all unknown ; 
though I suspect T. to be your father, whom I will not 
permit to remain quite a stranger ; therefore present him 
with my cordial remembrance, and tell him he need not 
be ashamed of being caught, in his old age, dancing with 
his " old woman" in a circle of young minstrels. Youth 
looks more lovely, and age more venerable, when associ* 
ated together in innocent pastime. Horace tells us, that 
when he was a boy, slumbering on a mountain, the ring- 
doves of Venus (fabulosa pahmbes — doves of renown), 
covered him with fresh leaves of laurel and mjrrtle, so that 
he slept safely amidst serpents and wild beasts — " Non 
sine dis animosus infans." Now, though I am no more 
a boy than I am a Horace, I find myself covered with 



138 CORRESPONDENTS. 

foliage more fragrant and flowering than myrtles and 
laurels, which unseen beings — ^not the £Etbled doyes of 
Oytherea, nor the faxry bands of Queen Mab — ^have scat- 
tered upon me, and which perhaps will render me less 
vulnerable, though, alas ! not secure, from the bears and 
vipers of criticism. By these I expect to be worried and 
stung from month to month, without mercy and without 
measure ; for since I was stricken by the Hunter of the 
North, every ass can turn up his heels at me. You are 
right in your judgment of the motives that influenced 
the writer in the Christian Observery if I have any dis- 
cernment, or am not utterly blinded by the sense of 
wrong which he has done me. I have borne with pa- 
tience, almost with disdain, the flippant and dogmatic re- 
proaches which have been cast upon my praeopopceia 
(which is not an embodied and visible personiftcaHon) of 
" the grave." I do not know that I shall ever be pro- 
voked to answer them, otherwise than by retaining the 
passage without any concession. You say truly, that the 
Bible would offer a fine field for such reviewers to display 

their wit and acumen 

I return to a much more delightful subject — ^the 
volume of the " Associate Minstrels." Your " Silence" 
is so much improved from its first form, that I aqEi not 
disposed to find one fiiult in it here ; but remember what I 
tell you now : when you are ten years older, you will see 
more defects in it than I have heretofore pointed outy 
but you will never need to blush for it ; it is the promise 
of something so much greater than itself, that you must 
beware not to disappoint the expectations of your friends 
— shall I say, of the world ? — ^by negligence or precipi- 
tancy. You ought now never to write on a mean or in- 
sipid subject, nor ever to do worse than your best, what- 
ever be your theme. I speak more coxifidently of your 



JAMES MONTGOMERY. 139 

talents to your face, because I spoke higUy, romantically, 
of them before I saw your face or knew your name. 
TMs is a pledge, both to you and to me, that my commen- 
dations are sincere ; and you cannot deny that my criti- 
cisms are the same. 

Of your companions^ I have only, space to say little — 
and I am glad; because it will compel me to speak 
out and to speak warmly, leaving me no refuge for 
qualifying and neutraHziog my honest praises. " A." is, 
in my mind, the queen of the assembly. She is a poet 
of a high order, the first, unquestionably, of those who 
write for children, and not the last, by hundreds, among 
those who write for men. The "Maniac's Song" has 
not only the " melancholy madness," but the " inspiration 
of poetry" also. The simile, page 97, is wonderfully 
fine, and I apprehend perfectly original. The two 
stanzas that contain it are as lovely as the stars they 
celebrate. " J." is very deUcate and sprightly ; there is 
a tender playfulness in her best manner that is truly 
fascioating. Your favourite, " E.," has a splendid imagi- 
nation, and excels in description ; her colouring is, like 
that of nature, glowing, and her pictures, like those 
of nature, harmonious ; but she must travel a little wider^ 
and vary her scenery more, lest she should lose the 
benefit of her other powers, which she has not yet dis- 
covered in herself, for lack of an opportunity of exer- 
cising them. " S." is a new signature to me ; the Hues, 
page 187, are peculiarly impressive ; the reality of the 
subject (one which an author coidd scarcely have in- 
vented) gives them an affecting and awfcd interest. The 
lyre of S. does not disgrace the concert of the "Associate 
Minstrels." Of T.'s verses I have already spoken. I 
hope J.'s " reply" wiU induce him to take his harp from 
the willow, and tune it to the songs of Zion. On turning 



140 CORRESPONDENTS. 

over the leaves to count the signatures, I find your good 
father signs " C, sen'." (it had run in my foolish head, 
that T. was his mark, and that it was affixed to the 
*'' Farewell to the Muse"). I am therefore in the dark 
about " T." But after all these encomiums, you will very 
plausibly suspect that I am flattering you roundj since I 
have not found any fault with any one of you ! There 
may be room enough to find fault in your volume, but 
you see there is not room enough in my letter ; therefore 
you must excuse me that trouble, especially as I have no 
doubt that you are all aware of more motes in your eyes 
than I can see, for the beam in mine. To the best of you 
I would say — ^Do better, and better still, to the end of 

your career I can't say another word here, but 

Ood bless you. 

y. . . . The " Ode to Cheerfulness" is certainly 
one of your most spirited pieces, and I do not wonder 
that it is a favourite with yourself ; yet I am not sure 
that readers in general will be particularly delighted 
with it, because few can sympathise with the emotions 
that inspired it, and still fewer will take the pains to 
understand the allegories that adorn yet obscure every 
paragraph. It is quite a hieroglyphic piece of writing ; 
it has the general fault of your poetry — ^a splendid fault, 
I acknowledge, and it has that fault in the utmost excess 
— ^more light than fire, more imagination than passion ; 
it is as much painting as verse, and is addressed more to 
the eye than to the heart. I tell you these things freely, 
because I do not fear ofi^nding you, and it may do 
you good to know the impression which your composi- 
tions make on other minds than your own, and those of 
your immediate and most intimate friends, who have, in 
their various degrees, the same genius and taste as yourself. 



JAMES MONTGOMERY. 141 

Sheffielcl, Not. 6, 1810. 

YI. DsAB FsiEiTD, — 1 am at all times so far in 
arrears with my correspondents, that you must not won- 
der if I write to you much less, as well as much seldomer 
than you deserve. There is nothing that I desire so 
much as to receive, and nothing that I dread more 
than to write, letters from and to the friends that I 
esteem and love ; of this numl;)er be assured you are one, 
whether I tell you so once a month, or once in seven 
years. . . « . 

With respect to your exposition and vindication of 
the figurative form of your poetry, I can only thank you 
for it, and acknowledge it to be as ingenious as it is 
candicl. If I were with you, I might talk you to stupe- 
faction on this subject, but really I must forbear enter- 
ing upon it otherwise than casually and lightly by letter. 
One may talk spontaneously with great interest and 
animation on such a flowery and fertile theme, either 
of argument or illustration; but I could not pretend 
to iorite upon it without more expense of thought than 
I can afford at present. I must therefore leave it till we 
meet, with this remark, which I beUeve your own obser- 
vation wiU justify, that I myself am the most metaphysi- 
cal poet of the age, if I deserve the name of poet in the 
age of Campbell, and Southey, and Scott. . . . 

You must not be too impatient to be put out of your 
misery (the misery of suspense) by the reviewers. Those 
gentry praise or censure to suit their own time and con- 
venience ; and poor authors destined either for the laurel 
or the cudgel must wait for their turn, which comes 
soon enough, I assure you, when it comes at all, especially 
if it be a hard turn. Can anything be imagined more 
unreasonable than the impatience of eels to be skinned, 
or lobsters to be boiled alive ? Nothing, truly, except 



142 CORRESPONDENTS. 

the immense desire of a poet to be reviewed. Yet it is 
a veiy natural and very tormenting desire. I feel it 
almost as irksome at this time, as if I were still a fresh- 
water author, and had never been thrown headlong, and 
sunk lower than ever plummet sounded, in the black sea 
of criticism, to be devoured by sharks and sword-fishes. I 
was astonished last month, not at the clemency (which was 
the utmost I expected from that reverend quarter), but 
at the prodigality of the British Critic, in praising my 
" West Indies;" but it only makes me tremble more at 
the apprehension of tortures yet to come fr*om other 
judges and tribunals. I have not the remotest means of 
conjecturing whether the Edinburgh savages will bind 
me to the stake again, to endure their exquisite cruel- 
ties, or wkether they will condescend to overlook me 

altogether 

I shall expect almost unprecedented excellence in 
Southey's new poem ; but I do not like the name, for I 
do not know how to pronounce it. This may appear a 
frivolous objection; it is, however, the most serious that I 
can yet urge against his poem. When I have seen it, this 
will, of course, be done away ; and I wish I may not be 
able to find another fault about it. 

June 11, 1811. 
VII. Mt dbab Pbibih), — ^Three of your unacknow- 
ledged favours lie open before me ; I have just now re- 
perused them, and in order to pacify my conscience, I 
thank you at once, and with my whole heart, for these 
affectionate tokens of your unwearied kindness to one 
who so often puts your friendship to a test which proves 
its purity and disinterestedness ; the small and slow 
returns that my poverty of spirit enables me to make for 
your frequent and liberal communications will, however. 



JAMES MONTGOMERT. 143 

be accepted by you with an indulgence which will not 
fail to lay me under yet deeper obligations. . . . 

I thank you particularly for the ingenious pamphlet 
on the subject of Beviews, which, a few passages ex- 
cepted, I have read with great pleasure and entire appro- 
bation I wish that all the writers and reader, 

critics and poets especially, in the kingdom would peruse 
your friend's essay as diligently as I have done ; and if 
they found as much pleasure in it, they would think 
themselves well repaid. I do not choose to acknowledge 
that I have felt rebuked, or that I shall be profited, by 
any passage referring to criticism. So far as the author 
has condescended to notice me as a poet, I felt that I 
ought to be humbled by the honour which he has con- 
ferred upon me ; but I fear that I have not to quarrel 
with him, but with you, for dragging me before the pub- 
lie as a suspected critic. Even the indiscreet zeal of 
friendship, which may have induced you to proclaim me 
an Eclectic reviewer, can scarcely be admitted as a jus- 
tificatory plea for placing me in a most invidious situa- 
tion. I forgive you, because you are too young and too 
warm-hearted to know any better. But, my dear friend, 
I have no ambition to shine as a critic ; and I am weak 
enough to be ashamed to be known as one, for reasons 
that are too complicated and perhaps too delicate to be 
exhibited in the " tangible shape" of written words. But 
I do not mean to shrink from any responsibility which 
may attach to me for my presumed connection with the 
Eclectic Beview; nor will I hesitate now, since I am 
braved to it, to acknowledge that I have at different 
times contributed articles to the work. It is not pro- 
bable, however, that I shall in future be answerable either 
for its defects or its excellences in any degree, unless 
some unforeseen drcumstance should make me feel it 



1 44 CORRESPONDENTS. 

my duty to amume the mask of Aristarchiu. The ex- 
posure of my name in your friend's pages is, I assure you 
most conscientiously, a sufficient punishment for all the 
critical crimes that I have committed ; and if you knew 
how many temptations to commit more I have resis4ied 
and overcome, you would perhaps think that I ought to 
have been freely forgiven the sins that I did, for the sake 
of those that I did not. While I am talking about the 
Eclectic^ I am naturally reminded of your vehement cen- 
sure of the critic of '' Kehama." I do not think so harshly 
of the article as you seem to do ; it is written with great 
power, though not with much vigour or address. I have 
no idea who the author is, and therefore I can speak im- 
partially between the reviewer and the poet ; but if I 
were inclined to say that the latter had ever deserved 
the anathemas of the former, I would add, that the 
former ought not to have bestowed them so heartily and 
heavily as he has done — ^perhaps only from want of ability 
to lay them on lighter. I have not yet read the poem 
through. About a month ago I had an opportunity of 
looking into it, and I ran a^mucky if I may use the ex- 
pression, throtigh about two-thirds of it ; and I may say 
that it pleased and' provoked me more than any work of 
Southey's had done before. Its merits are above my 
praise ; of its faults I am not disposed to speak. When 
Southey excels all living poets, and equals the greatest of 
the dead, it is heeauee he cannot help it ; when he falls 
and grovels, it is on purpose. The buoyancy of genius 
carries him, by its own irresistible impulse, into the 
highest heaven of invention ; but by headlong violence 
done to himself, he sometimes descends into a gross and 
earthly atmosphere, in which he can neither breathe nor 
fly with freedom. But in *' Kehama" I do not mean to 
blame him so much for degrading, as for misapplying his 



JAM£S MONTGOMERY. 145 

talents. This subject is, however, too copious for a let- 
ter ; we will talk about it when we meet, as I said before 
of other equally prolific subjects. 

I have not seen Mr. S. in Sheffield during the 
spring, as I was tempted to hope &om your hint con- 
cerning his journey to town. But who am I, that I 
should think of him turning aside even for a moment to 
look at me P Well, I am as proud a man, if I am not as 
great a poet, as he is : if the mountain will not come to 
Mahomet, Mahomet will, not go to the mountain ! He 
is the superior, and therefore, if we meet, he must take 
the first step ; and then I will take two, three, twenty, 
to " kiss the shadow of his shoe-tie." 

You will give me credit for having been duly enraged 
at first, and most magnanimously indifferent afterwards, 
at the miserable splenetic attack of the monthly reviewer 
on the' '^ Associate Minstrels." Even in that work I never 
saw anything more pitiful. But yet this important critic 
happens to be placed on such an eminence, that he can 
amuse himself with breaking the heads of giants below, 
by dropping pebbles upon them as they pass. It is the 
height from which they faU, and not the strength of the 
arm that hurls them, which makes them fatal. 

.... Beversing the terms of the saying of Socrates, 
I would observe of Southey, that the Eeviewers may hurt 
him, but they cannot kill him. This remiuds me of the 
sneer of the Edinburgh Eeviewers at Bloomfield and 
myself ia their critique on '^ Kehama." I am afraid that 
this has been thrown out as the signal of a broadside 
attack from that quarter on my last volume. I must 
bear it if it comes. I am far from being ashamed of 
being classed with Bloomfield, who is a true poet, or h^ 
never could have outlived the praises of Capel Lofft, 
which would have suffocated any earth-bom muse. 

L 



146 C0KKESP0NDENT8. 

" I would not for a world of gold 
That Nature's lorely &oe should tire." 

Should these two simple lines of Eobert.Bloomfield's be 
preserved alone of all his writings to the hundredth 
generation of posterity, as a quotation in some immortal 
work, these two lines alone will satisfy the age to come 
that their author was a poet of exquisite feeling. Re- 
member me most kindly to him, and say that I long to 
see the " Banks of the Wye." 

September 13, 1811. 

YIII. If you are not alarmed at the size of this sheet 
of paper, I am ; and I shall reduce its blank immensity 
with all possible expedition, thereby probably increasing 
your consternation as I diminish my own. But really if 
I have patience to fill these formidable pages with com- 
mon sense in common English, I think you may find 
courage to read them. Last Thursday evening I sat 
down seriously to write to you; but when I had re- 
perused your late letters, and repeatedly conned over the 
verses vnthout a name, I was interrupted, and compelled 
to postpone my design ; however, to convince you that I 
had been heartily thinking of you at that Idme, I de- 
spatched my messenger Iris by that night's post to inti- 
mate that I should soon follow her in due epistolary 
form ; and I doubt not that she was as welcome to you 
as ever, in the days of her divinity, she was to any favourite 
of Satumian Juno on an errand of mischief In my ser- 
vice I trust she is better employed, though no longer 
" Iris de caelOf** but a true terra Jllia 

First, the verses headed by Adrian's address to his 
soul, of which you are very naturally as fond as he was 
of it, and apparently not less anxious concerning their 
future welfare; for you have thrice challenged me to 



JAMES MONTGOMERY. 147 

prove their mortality if I could ; after I liad twice failed 
to do this, you ought to have been satisfied, and " lo 
triumphe!** sung with all your might. Indeed, unless I 
descend to verbal criticism, I cannot find another fault 
in them than 1 have already found, and you have dis- 
proved. I have stated that they want compression, to 
which you have replied, victoriously, "Want compression, 
when I have just added four new verses to them !" Per- 
haps, I ought either to have said that they yfirasit perspi" 
cuit^y which, in my opinion, would be the effect of com' 
pre99um. I would not have a thought less — ^they have 
not a thought to spare, for all the thoughts are good ; 
but I should like to see them in half the compass of 
words, because they would then appear with twice the 
advantage. This you know in theory, and in criticising 
the second canto of my "World before the Flood," you can 
preach it to me most eloquently and unanswerably, tracing 
it even to one of its causes — ^the employment of rhyme 
but you have to learn it in practice; and it will not 
serve you to plead that I am as great a sinner as your- 
self; for grant that, what follows ? We can both teach 
what we do not know ; for to hruyw what is right is to 
Jo it ; to say it is neither. A parrot may say, " Lord, 
bless me !" or . • . but can a parrot either pray or 
swear? 

, . . The piece turns on two ideas — ^the possibility 
of spiritual communion in absence and in the body, and 
the fiiture state of the soul. Eew^ I fear, of your readers 
will nicely distinguish these points, or clearly compre- 
hend to which you aUude, or even to what you allude, in 
some of the verses. This is my main objection to the 
piece ; and as its truth must rest on fact, and not on 
argument, I leave it to you to prove, by making experi- 
ments on yoiir friends with the poem itself. If it leaves 



148 CORRESPONDENTS. 

a distinct and livelj impression ofyov/r views upon their 
minds, in the order in which you have exhibited those 
views, then I am mistaken, and your poem is as immortal 
as the soul of Adrian, or at least it will live as long as 
his dying speech. 

With regard to the trochaic rhymes, I answer, that 
where they are happily employed their effect is exquisite; 
but wherever they surprise by their novelty, the effect 
is either harsh or ludicrous. (On reading over my letter, 
I recollect that I wrote a valentine last February, with 
trochaic rhymes ; if I had room I would send it, that you 
might have your reveoge.) Our language is deficient 
of these, or rather deficient of variety in the terminations 
of these ; for you may rhyme double from A to Z in 
Johnson's Dictionary, by taking the participles of verbs ; 
but these soon weary the ear, and though they must be 
frequently used, they should be mingled at due distances 
with others. Ehyme in verse ought to have a general, 
not a particular effect. It is most enchantingly felt 
where it is least obtrusive, either by its harshness or 
singularity. Uncommon rhymes, even iambics, almost 
inevitably dissolve the charm of a sublime or affecting 
passage ; and it is the misfortune of trochaics in our 
language, that the rhymes must either be so common as 
to be despised, or so uncommon as to be strange; in each 
case they are made too prominent, and betray the artifice 
of the poet and the poverty of his art. To conceal the 
latter is the acme of his skill, and to conceal himself is 
almost as difficult ; but he must do both to captivate his 
reader, and move and melt, and raise him at his will. 

At first sight it appears extraordinary that there 
should be so few rhymes, either iambic or trochaic, in 
liberal use among our best poets ; and one would imagine 
that the ear would be quite disgusted with the perpetual 



JAMES MONTGOMERT. 149 

recurrence of the same endings in any hundred verses of 
any poem that is published. Now, this would assuredly 
be the case if the rhymes were always emphatical, or in 
any considerable degree more striking than the other 
syllal^les of the line ; but their sweet correspondence, 
and the momentary suspension of the breath after utter- 
ing them, have no other effect in good poetry than that 
of binding and harmonizing the whole, and prevailing 
throughout like the key-note and its chord in a strain of 
music. In truth, we are no more offended by the fre- 
quent return of the same rhymes, than we are with the 
everlasting repetition of those particles that occur in 
every sentence, such as and, if, hut; which proves that 
rhymes ought not to be emphatical, or so uncommon as 
to stnke. I cannot expatiate further on the subject ; we 
win renew it when we meet. I will only, lest I should 
forget it hereafter, in reply to a question in your last 
note, say, that I do not ** concede that rhyme tempts to 
diffuseness ; '* and to convince you by a greater authority 
than my own, I refer you to what Pope says in his intro* 
duction to the " Essay on Man :" — " I chose verse, and 
even rhyme, because I could express [my principles] more 
shortly this way than in prose itself." And he exempli- 
fied it, for I know nothing in our language so clear and 
concise as the best passages in that essay. At the same 
time, I acknowledge that those who write in rhyme may 
be diffuse if they please ; the wisdom of Solomon did not 
prevent him from making a fool of himself, but it was by 
his own choice. I do not set up a justification of my 
misconduct here ; I only vindicate, as I ever must, the 
dignity of rhyme. Blank verse of the highest order (I 
mean the best blank verse of every order) I read with 
true delight; but I cannot tolerate it when it is only 
tolerable. When I was fourteen years old, I wrote a 



1 50 CORKESPONDENTS. 

long poem (about 150 lines), m blank verse, which I 
thought divine as I was composing it ; when it was finished 
I thought better of it, for I burnt it as soon as I had 
read it ! I may say I have never fairly attempted blank 
verse since. A hundred rude lines in various frag- 
ments, at different times, as far as I can recollect, would 
comprehend all my exploits in that stony ground of 
literature. 

I have been exceedingly gratified with the few things 
concerning Southey that I find in your late letters. I 
wish you had seen more of him, for, as I could not see 
him with my own eyes, I should have been happy to have 
seen him with yours, and received the image of his mind 
reflected from a mirror worthy of it — from yours. This 
is not a compliment ; if it looks like one, you must not 
believe its looks ; when the truth comes, I will write it to 
my friend, though I know it will make him blush to read 
it. If Southey had chosen an antediluvian subject, he 
might have written it in blank verse ; but it no more 
follows that I should do so, than that I should write a 
poem equal to him, because I have chosen the subject on 
which I understand his great mind once brooded. What 
a new creation rising from the old should we have wit- 
nessed, had he proceeded in his glorious work ! He may 
yet resume it ; I have not monopolized the theme. As 
you intimate, he would have given " a more antediluvian 
air to the drama." I have not thought it necessary, in 
my view of the subject, to exhibit a black-letter world, 
by building antiquarian stubble upon the magnificent 
foundation which I have chosen. I thought it sufficient 
that the manners, and persons, and scenes should be such 
as may, without violence of probability or any extraordi- 
nary effort of mind, be supposed to have existed before 
the flood; not displayed with minute and ostentatious 



JAMES MONTGOMERY. 151 

particularity, diBplaying at every step the learning and 
labour of the author, pressing into his service all that 
truth or tradition has told us concerning the infancy of 
Time. ' In all the poems of Walter Scott and Southey, I 
&id much of this extraneous learning and labour— de- 
scriptions for the sake of descriptions, that perpetually 
remind me of deficiency hj superfluity. It is not all that 
we know of an age and a people long past, that will pre- 
sent to our minds the most natural^ or the most perfect 
picture of the age and people ; for when all are exhibited 
together, however arranged by the hand of genius and 
taste, there must be many heterogeneous materials that 
prove how much is in reality wanting to complete 
them. A selection of the principal characteristics of the 
subject, brought home to our understandings and our 
hearts by being blended with a great proportion of 
those circumstances and sympathies which are common 
in aU periods and to all human beings, appears to me at 
once the most rational and excellent way to treat of any 
grand events remote &om common life. I have twined a 
Gordian knot about my pen, and I must cut it, or I shall 
not unloose it to the end of my pitper. I will only reply 
to your remark that " Scott would have painted a better 
forest," by saying that mine, I mean the wild part of it, 
is a humble picture of a primeval North American forest, 
growing up into a sylvan temple of stupendous height, 
with columnar trunks, a roof of branches, and a floor of 
massive roots. I am sorry that he paints " prettier cot- 
tages ;" but as for " more picturesque prophets," he is wel- 
come to them. Without vanity, here I may borrow the 
happy phrase of your friend, and say, Mr. Scott may 
paint the " matter of which prophets are made ;" give me 
to paint the " mind" that was in them. Thank you, my 
dear friend, for all your animating commendations of 



152 CORR£SPO!n>£KTS. 

tbiMie tuitarm in my poem wbidi pleased yon, and jaar 
gentle^ but deep-piercing atrietores on thoae whidi did not 
•atiafy jovL The latter I am not diapoaed to defend 
now ; your opinion will hare great weight with me when 
I feeonxider the second canto. 

You have veiy ably yindicated Mr. C. O^Beid, and 
you have convinced me that I ought meekly to submit to 
every conaequence of my own imprudence, or the indiscreet 
kindness of those whom I love : as my friends must suffer 
at least as much from me as I can from them, the reci- 
procity is very &ir Now, Til tell you a secret — 

but not all of it neither. On the second day of last July, 
I think about five o'clock in the afternoon, your soul met 
mine in the second page of a certain sheet of paper, and 
told me (not in words, for souls do talk ^with most 
miraculous organ") who Mr. O'Beid m. But I won't tell 
anybody. Now, my dear friend, if you can recollect that 
your soul was on travel that day, it will be proof positive 
of the truth of your speculation, that ** spirit can with 
spirit blend, and that, in unseen communion, thought can 
hold the distant friend." Another proof of this ineffable 
intercourse is, that I was meditating on this very subject 
over your verses, at the time that you, in all probability, 
were forwarding your franked letter to the post-office; 
for it was in the evening of Tuesday, just as the shades 
were shutting in, and perhaps some of the obscurity 
which I then attributed to your poetry arose fit>m the 
light in which I read it 

I shall be happy to hear that your honoured father 
has found the health, and quiet, and spirits, that you tell 
me he is gone from home to seek. May these, with a clear 
conscience, and a heart filled with the love of God and 
overflowing in love to man, be his portion and yours, and 
the portion of all whom you esteem upon earth. I have 



JAMES MONTGOMERY. 153 

only this line to say, that your little address to Time 
pleases me very much, except the glance at " Feeling's 
inmost cell." Write freely and folly to me whenever 
you are disposed. I am. sincerely your obliged friend, 

J. MONTGOMEBY. 

P.S. — " It cannot rain but it pours." — Old Proverb, 
Here's a letter three leagues long ; put on the giant's 
boots to get through it. I do not know who Z.T.X. is. 
I have seen several pieces in the Christian Paper (?) so 
signed. They are close imitations of Wordsworth. 
JVa»« hut Southey could ivrite " Not to the grave," etc. 

IX. . . . You will have seen, before you receive 
this letter, that I gratefully accepted your verses on the 
Comet, though the comet itself was but the nucleus of 
them, and the brilliant emanations of thought that arose 
ftovi it gave a glory to the subject, more appropriate 
perhaps than even unity could have conferred. But this 
must not enc6urage you often to take such flights of 
unretuming fancy from the original theme. It is rarely 
in a poet's life, perhaps not ofbener than the visitation of 
a comet, that he may indulge in such eccentricity. I 
have incurred much severe censure for giving loose to 
imagination in this manner ; in secret I love it, but I 
dare not now hazard it. The lady who dreamed of me 
in the shape of a comet, had an intiutive perception of 
my poetical character ; neither the sun of a system, nor 
yet a primary or secondary planet, revolving round any 
superior luminary in a regular round, but cast off in an 
orbit so elliptical, that it is doubtful whether I belong to 
any certain centre, or, if I do, whether the age of man 
will allow me sufficient time to return td )noLj primum 
mobile, I find the judgments of friends as well as my 



154 CORRESPONDENTS. 

critics, concerning my productions, so exceedingly at 
variance with each other, and often so opposite to my 
own, that I begin to despair of ever accomplishing any 
work of imagination that will not lay me open to the 
pity of my well-wishers, and the contempt of my enemies. 
My repeated failures in the poem which has now been 
long under my hand, have taught me that I can seldom^ 
almost never, rely upon my own feelings or taste ; while 
the taste and feelings of my advisers being frequently 
irreconcileable, I am bewildered and disheartened to such 
a degree, that I have repeatedly thrown the work aside 
for months, and then resumed it with new spirit and 
hopes, to be broken and disappointed again, as soon as I 
put the decisions of my own mind to the test of those of 
another. If from him I appealed to a third or a fourth, 
I only plunged from one trouble into a greater, being 
differently condemned or praised |br this passage or that 
throughout the whole piece ; so that my poor poem is 
in the same predicament as the hog with the Mussulmen, 
each preferring a part, though he rejects the rest, "till 
quite from snout to tail 'tis eaten." ... 

Pray, where did Mr. Southey or yourself learn that 
rhyme, in the heroic measure, wearies more than blank 
verse? "Pope's 'Iliad' wearies," you say; Milton's 
" Paradise Lost" does the same. Dr. Johnson will tell 
you. No long poem either in blank verse or rhyme will 
please idle readers, and the generality of readers are 
idle ; therefore, no long poem, whatever be its form, will 
be read through by these; yet it may be popular on 
account of certain passages that seize every mind, and 
possess it with such fulness of delight, that the whole is 
admired and commended for their sake ; though few read 
the whole, and none without that weariness which is 
consequent upon every exercise of the mind in following 



JAMES MONTGOMERY. 155 

the thoughts of another, especially if that other be superior. 
I am perfectly convinced that a poem of any equal length 
and equal merit, in rhyme, will be more success^ than 
another in blank verse ; but were this not my persuasion, 
I am such a stranger to the composition of the latter, 
that it would be folly for me to attempt it at present. 

Sheffield, Nov. 12, 1819. 

X. Mr DEAB Fbibttd, — I have so long neglected 
you, that I am ashamed, even on paper, to look you in 
the face. An unanswered note of yours has lain, I believe, 
two years in a drawer of my writing-desk, among many 
others from east, west, north, and sputh, which I have 
either not found time, or courage, or inclination, to 
answer as they deserved. . . . This is the way that 
I serve all my friends, and whether I can help it or not, 
it is so, andcta I am ; thus you must either be coiitent to 
bear with me, or cast me off, for I fear I shall never 
mend ; and not one of them, nay, not all put together, 
have so much reason to complain of this failing as I my« 
self have. It is the misery of my life, for procrastina- 
tion runs through' all I do ; and when or how I shall 
overtake Time, I know not ; I am always so far behind 
him, that it is no very rash prophecy to say that I shall 
live at least a month after the day of my death. But I 
must not trifle any longer in preamble. Since I saw you 
last (four years ago, I believe) I have had to pass through 
many trials, and have suffered severely in mind, body, 
and estate, from loss of peace, of health, and of property. 
Into particulars I cannot go at present ; suffice it to say, 
that in the month of August last I was so far worn 
down with sickness and exhaustion, that I seemed to 
draw nigh to the gates of death. The mighty and the 
merciM hand that led me thither did not leave me there, 



156 CORRESPONDENTS. 

but has preserved me to this hour, and strengthened me 
so far, that I am nearly well, though jet a bruised reed, 
and a reed shaken hj every wind. I have been from 
home nearly two months, for rest and refreshment. Your 
letter met me on my return, and I take an early oppor- 
tunity, this time, to answer it, and to assiure you that I 
have never forgotten you as a friend, nor remembered you 
without self-reproach. K you knew how uncomfortably 
I have been circumstanced for a long time past, and how 
continually I have been harassed and overwhelmed with 
necessary employments, both private and public, amidst 
cares, anxieties, and sufferings, which have broken my 
heart and borne down my spirit, you would not think 
hardly of me, though, in the consciousness of superior 
self-command, you might perceive that most of my mis- 
fortunes were brought upon me by my own weakness, 
and aggravated by my own perversity. I must not com- 
plain any more, or you will think me mad and going to 
Bedlam, or bankrupt and going to prison. Neither of 
these hideous alternatives is the case ; I have still intel* 
leet enough to render all my follies inexcusable, and 
property enough to make me the most ungrateful of 
human beings if I repine at my lot. . . . 

With respect to Campbell's Poets, it is true that I 
long ago expressed a desire to have the work to review 
when I was in the practice of writing occasionally for 
the J^. jB. During the last six years, my mind has 
been forced to bear the yoke, and exercise itself so 
much on tasks, not of its own choosing, though tasks in 
which it generally delighted, that all its superfluous 
energy, if it had any such, has been expended in Bible, 
Missionary, School, and other noble institutions, and 
their concerns, as universal reporter and advocate in 
every way that opened before me ; I say, my mind (in 



THE CORN-LAW RHYMEE. 157 

addition to poetiy, to which I have paid little ottentioi^ 
and mj bnsinesa, to which I have perhaps paid less), 
has been so much engaged in these things, that I have 
found little time or interest for any other kind of literary 
exertions. This is the only reason why I deduied to 
write for the JB. B. If I had deserted it for any other 
work of the same kind, you might justly have condemned 
me. I am at present so crowded with duties, that I dare 
not undertake Campbell, . . . my time and talents 
(such as they are) being so little at my control, that I 
am uncertain when I could seriously sit down to the 
task. I must therefore forego it. . . . Eemember 
me most gratefully and respectfully to Mrs. C, and 
believe me truly, your Mend, 

J. MONTOOMEBT. 

Ebom Mb. Elliott to Db. J. Pyb Smith.* 

Sheffield, Noyember 13, 1822. 

Ebv. Sib, — I believe you will have no recollection of 
me, but in better days I have seen you at my cousin's, Dr. 
Sobinson, of Masbro'. I, indeed, have not much recol- 
lection of you, but I remember I was always glad to find 
you at my cousin's, or to hear that you were expected ; 
and it is this remembrance which emboldens me to vio- 
late my nature, by troubling you with a letter which 
concerns not you, and perhaps does not deserve to interest 
you at all. I have requested Mr. Warren, of Old Bond 
Street, to forward to the Eclectic Bemew Office, directed 
to you, a copy of my new publication, " Love, a poem ; 
with The Oiaour, a satire ;" in the hope that you will read 
it and review it, if you find anything in it worthy of 
praise. The former poem was read in manuscript by 
Mr. Montgomery, two years ago, with considerable, 

* See anUe^ p. 128. 



158 ELLIOTT TO DE. SMITH. 

though qualified praise, and it owes him much. The 
satire I dared not to show him, and you will not 
like it, because it is one; but it is honestly, though 
warmly, written. Its object is to retort on Lord Byron 
the sarcasms with which he has asssailed the Lake Poets. 
I am under great obligations to Mr. Southey, two of 
whose letters to me I annex. With a warm-hearted con- 
descension, which I can never repay, he taught me all 
that I know of the art of poetry. Hitherto I have pub- 
lished without risk ; but I am now risking what I cannot 
afford, if the book should not succeed. Perhaps it is not 
the least of my sins that, throughout all my troubles, I 
have retained an inextinguishable longing to leave behind 
me — ^a name. I compare my unsuccessful writings with 
the successful ones of others ; and I cannot allow that their 
fate is deserved. Yet, as the Eeviewers do not take up my 
books, I write in vain ; and my first and last poor hope is 
withering amid the gloom that grows upon me. Since my 
removal to Sheffield I think I have had hints that my shat- 
tered firame will not last for ever ; my constitution, at the 
early age of forty-two, is giving way ; and I am not at this 
moment sure that my mind itself is in health. I seldom 
go to a place of worship without a dread approaching to 
horror ; and I scarcely, of late, hear a sermon, but I return 
feverish, and pass a sleepless night, with a grating weight 
at my breast, as if I had swallowed a brick. While I re- 
tained in its integrity my belief in the doctrines of philo- 
sophical religion, I was at least calm ; but what are now my 
bosom inmates P Not indifference— not, oh, not unbelief, 
but rebellious convicted reason's anxiety and terror; hope- 
less expectation, anticipated death. Yet, as Camoens, 
when shipwrecked, swam with the '^Lusiad" in his hand, I, 
in the presence of despondency itself, still more and more 
earnestly yearn to leave behind me, in some faint shadow 



SaUTHEY TO ELLIOTT. 159 

of my mind, a proof that '* this intellectual being, these 
thoughts that wander through eternity,'' once existed ; 
so indefatigable is the restless instinct that was bom 
with me, whether it be of genius, of madness, or of foUy. 
I am, reverend sir, mast respectftdly your servant, 

E. Elliott. 

{Copies,) 

Keswick, Jan. 80, 1819. 

I received your little volume yesterday. There are 
abundant evidences of power in this poem.* Its merits 
are of the most striking kind ; and its defects are not 
less striking, both in plan and execution. The stories 
had better have been separate than Unked together with- 
out any natural or necessary connection. The first con- 
sists of such grossly improbable circumstances, that it is 
altogether as improbable as if it were a supernatural tale. 
It is also a hateful story, presenting nothing but what is 
painful. In the second, the machinery is preposterously 
disproportioned to the occasion. And in all the poems 
there is too much on^ment, too much effort, too much 
labour. You think you can never embroider your dra- 
pery sufficiently, and that the more gold and jewels you 
fasten on it, the richer the effect must be. The conse- 
quence is, that there is a total want of what the painters 
call breadth and keeping ; and therefore the effect is lost. 

You will say that this opinion proceeds from the 
erroneous system which I have pursued in my own writ- 
ings, and which has prevented my poems from obtaining 
the same popularity as those of Lord Byron and Walter 
Scott. But look at those poets whose rank is established 
beyond controversy. Look at the Homeric poeme, at 
Virgil, Dante, Ariosto, Milton. Do not ask yourself 

* "Night: a Descriptive Poem." 



160 SOUTHET TO ELLIOTT. 

what are the causes of success or failure of your C(m- 
temporaries ; their &ilure or success is not determined 
yet ; — a generation — an age — ^a century will not suffice 
to determine it : but Jsee what it is by which those poets 
have made themselves immortal, who, after the illapse of 
centuries, are living and acting upon us still. 

I should not speak to you thus plainly of your fault 
— ^the sin by which the angels fell — ^if it were not for the 
great powers which are impaired by misdirection. And 
it is for the sake of bearing testimony to those powers 
that I am now writing. 

You may do great things, if you cease to attempt so 
much ; if you will learn to proportion your figures to 
your canvas, cease to overlay your foregroun4 with florid 
ornaments, and be persuaded, that in a poem, as weU as in 
a picture, there must be lights and shades — ^that the gene- 
ral effect can never be good unless the subordinate parts 
be kept down, and that the brilliancy of one part is 
brought out and heightened by the repose of another. 
One word more. With your powers of thought and 
expression, you need not seek to produce effect by mon- 
strous incidents and exaggerated characters. These drams 
have been administered so often that they are beginning 
to lose their effect. And it is to truth and nature that 
we must come at last. Trust to them, and they will bear 
you through. You must reverence your elders more. 

Yours faithfully, 

BOBEBT SOVTHBY. 

To Mr. EUiott, 

New Hasbro', near Botherham. 

KMwiok, June 29, 1821. 
Your '' Peter Faultless" has found his way to me, in 
one of my slow parcels. Thank you for the book. The 



ROBERT 80UTHET. 161 

charge of indecency ought not to have been made agamst 
it ; but there are ports which are coarser than the age will 
bear. The surest criterion in such cases is a woman's 
feelings. Whatever Mrs. Elliott would not like to read 
aloud in company, you would do well to expunge. 

There is great power both of conception and expres- 
sipn in even the most faulty of these poems. The stories 
are better imagined than they are made out. The serious 
poems have very great merit. Indeed, the graver your 
subject, and the higher you pitch your tone, the better 
you succeed. Thirty years ago, these pieces would have 
excited general attention. Thirty years hence, somebody 
wiU assume credit for finding out their merit. Present 
reputation depends far less upon real desert, than upon 
trick, tinsel, trashiness, mannerism, fiashion, and. accident. 
But merit outlives all these, and finds its place at last. 

I am versifying a little, and prosing a great deal. 
My History of the Peninsular "War keeps me closely 
employed. 

It is, I hope, needless to say, that if any chance should 
bring you into these parts, I shaU. be heartily glad to 
shake you by the hand. Yours, very truly, 

BOBT. SOTJTHBT. 



(PeOM EobEBT SorTHBT TO JOSIAH CONDEB.) 

Keswick, May 5, 1812. 
My deab Sib, — ^I received last night the communi- 
cations with which you and your highly esteemed Mends 
have favoured me. They are sent off this evening to 
Edinburgh, with my recommendation, little as they stand 
in need of it ; and if the editor be not already overstocked, 
or if they should not arrive too late, I have no doubt but 
that he will be as happy to insert them as I shall.be to see 



162 CORRESPONDENTS, 

them there. The dbcretion which you gave me, I so &r 
tised as to affix your name to the stanzas with the Latin 
motto, knowing how naturally every reader into whose 
hands they may fall will inquire who is the author. 

Upon the subject of the new system of education, 
two persons who desire the general good, and have neither 
party nor private interests to serve, can hardly fail of 
coming to the same conclusion, when they understand 
each other, and understand the system. My view of the 
subject is, that it is a thing of £ar too great importance 
to be trusted to so evanescent a source of support as 
contributions, of which nine-tenths are procured like 
votes at a county election, by dint of earnest solicitation 
and the activity of party spirit. It is the interest, the 
business, and the duty of the State to provide for the 
education of all those whose parents have not the means 
of providing it for them. Parochial schools ought to be 
established in every parish throughout the kingdom. If 
this were done, it is absurd to expect that the State should 
not provide that these children be educated according to 
the religion of the State ; that is to say, that they should 
be instructed in the Church catechism. And it would 
naturally follow, that the parish priest should become the 
superintendent of the parish school. My own wish would 
be, that the parish clerk shoidd always be the master ; 
care being taken to train up a race for this purpose, for 
thus the character would be raised into respectability. 

Thus much for the application of the system in Eng- 
land. In Scotland, of course, such alterations are to be 
made as would suit the catechism to the Kirk (though I 
believe little, if any, would be required) ; and in Ireland, 
when you give it to the Catholics, you must let them 
teach their monstrous idolatry. But you are not to ex« 
pect that a scheme will succeed in that country, which 



BOBERT SOUTHEY. 163 

endeavours to embrace Papist and Protestant, by care* 
fully excluding all points of difference. The Papists are 
far too wise to suffer this ; and I know that when it has 
been tried, and a few parents have been found willing to 
send their children to these schools, the priest has way* 
laid them with a horsewhip, and horsewhipped them 
back. I have not seen your Mend's book, but Mr. 
Wakefield and the Bishop of Meath have told me several 
curious facts which tend to show that the horsewhip is 
of almost as much use to the Irish priest as the crucifix! 
With regard to the origin of the new system, it is 
no more a matter of consequence than that it is always 
of consequence that impostors should be exposed, and 
honour awarded where it is due. Lancaster is not only, 
by the admission of his own partisans, a worthless and an 
impudent fellow, but he has materially injured the system 
' which he has stolen. The mode of teaching spelling and 
writing at once, destroys entirely the two fimdamental 
laws of the Madras system — ^that whatever is learnt must 
be learnt thoroughly, and that every boy must find his 
level. And by his sjrstem of punishment he sows the 
seeds of the vilest passions. 

He derives his popularity from the worthlessness of 
his most conspicuous opponents— John Bowles, Arch- 
deacon Daubeny, the Eev. Dr. Hook, etc. — ^fellows with 
whom it is mortifying to think alike upon any subject, 
because you are sure they would not be right, if it were 
not for some unworthy motive. The Dissenters are con- 
sistent in taking up his cause, but I do not think they 
are wise in doing it. There is a monstrous coalition of 
fanatics, infidels, and Boman Catholics against the Church 
of England. I do not subscribe to the Church ; if I could 
do it, I shoiQd be in orders — ^an office to which my inclina- 
tion would always strongly have led me. My mind has 



164 CORRESPONDENTS. 

undergone many changes, and is in many points neaier 
to the Church than when I forbore to enter it as a 
minister. Still, I am far from being in communicm with 
it, or from ever expecting to be so. But I am perfectly 
sensible of the iniinite good which we derive from such a 
Church, and of the dreadful consequences which would 
inevitably attend its overthrow. Your metaphor of the 
waste lands is a happy one ; what I contend against is 
that scheme of improvement which would throw down 
the inclosures. You will agree with me that the great 
object is to secure the benefit of national education ; this 
can only be done by a permanent parochial establishment. 
When next I write to Murray, I will desire him to give 
you my treatise upon Bell and the Dragon, which goes 
to this end. It is in a spirit of controversy, which is not 
ill directed when its aim is to expose the falsehoods of 
such writers as the Edinburgh Beviewers. 

I hope your good father continues well. Believe me, 
yours very truly, 

BOBEBT SOTTTHET. 

Keswick, May 15, 1813. 
II. At length I have received your packet, with your 
letter of March 2nd. I thank you for its contents. 
Bobert Hall's pamphlet has done its work. I trust also 
that the important object for which Claudius Buchanan 
has so long pleaded will now be effected, and that there 
will be a regular Church Establishment formed for India. 
It will greatly fa^iUtate the progress of the missionaries, 
and give stability to all which they do. And the mis- 
sionaries themselves, of whatever persuasion they may be, 
will feel as Britons of every reformed communion used 
to feel in Portugal, when Protestant and Papist were the 
only demarcations which were acknowledged. 



ROBERT SOUTHEY. 165 

The poem is spirited, and in a good strain. It happens 
that the first two lines rhyme, and this leading me to 
suppose that the poem was in couplets, I felt balked in 
the fourth verse, at coming to niffh instead of near. 

The Hymns, like all the other productions from that 
quarter, succeed admirably in what they aim at. I shall 
rejoice to see your "Reverie" preserved in a proper place. 
If the editors of the lid. An. Register had known what 
was good from what was good for nothing, they would 
have found no difficulty in making room for its insertion. 
My influence in that quarter is confined to my own 
department. 

Thank you for your letter respecting our excellent 
friend Neville. I have been too much occupied to write 
to him, and of late my spirits have wanted their usual 
elasticity. A brother of my wife's, who came here hoping 
to enjoy a few weeks of relaxation, is lingering under a 
complication of obscure and incurable diseases ; and how 
long he may live, or rather how long he may continue 
dying, is what no medical skill can foresee. I know just 
enough of nosology to punish me for ever having looked 
into the science without making it my study. Not an 
ailment can occur among my children that I cannot in 
my own mind explain by some alarming cause ; and 
thus little illnesses, which men who Hved less with their 
children would hardly hear of, and men in healthier feel- 
ings and happier ignorance would never think of, give 
me serious disquietude. It seems as if I had ae many 
hopes and fears as the veriest worldling, and that having 
none with respect to common worldly objects, they had 
all taken this direction. 

Montgomery has not written to me for many months, 
and! have long intended to teU him so. I see his 
^' World before the Mood" advertised, and when next I 



166 COEEESPONDENTS. 

write to Murray, will take a place in the Quarterly for 
it. Eeyiews, unluckily, are much more effectual inatru* 
mentB in the hands of an enemy than of a friend ; but I 
will do what I can to procure justice for him, with as 
much sincerity as good wiU. 

My own poem is but half written. My annual and 
quarterly avocations fill up a larger portion of my time 
than I would spare to them if I were but equally remu- 
nerated for better things. However, if no untoward 
events should impede me, I shall get on rapidly with the 
poem during the summer, aad put the concluding volume 
of Brazil to the plress in the course of six or eight weeks. 

Why did not your cousin bring you an account of 
the inside of my house, as well as of the outside ? A 
line from you would have procured him ready admittance, 
and such attentions« as a stranger may find useful. Se« 
member this in friture. 

Keswick, May 4, 1814. 

m. Thank you for the Beviews. . . • They con- 
tain much to repay a perusal, and a man need not be as 
tolerant as I am to excuse a little that he may dis« 
approve, for the sake of a great deal which deserves hia 
approbation. 

Like all other joiumals, it sins sometimes on the side 
of severity, and drags an unhappy author into notice for 
the.mere purpose of disgracing him. If it professed to 
notice every work which comes out, it woiQd, of course, 
be proper to condemn all that deserved condemnation ; 
but even in that case, it is condemnation enough to be 
merely noticed without praise. Beyond this, severity ia 
unnecessary (except where there be some especial de- 
merit), and therefore, I think, not to be justified. . . • 

Faults of this kind will never injure the sale of tiie 



ROBERT SOUTHET, 167 

journal, for even in that portion of the public for whom 
it is more particularly designed, the more amusing it is 
the better it will be received. In this point of view I 
think there are some theological articles which would 
have been better adapted to the JSvcmgelical Magazine, 
Professing to be eclectic, it is certainly not necessary to 
notice works which have no other merit than that of 
being orthodox according to the creed of the Beview, Of 
divinity, I shbuld think that one article for controversy 
and one for edification would be a sufficient proportion 
for each number — speaking entirely with reference to the 
interests of the publisher. Th6 publisher also should 
write more in it himself . 

In the October number, page 368, 1 was pleased to 
see that you had said of artists exactly what I had said 
of men — ^that, to judge their works fairly, we must look 
at them in the same light in which they were considered 
by the authors. You will find my sentence, with its 
wide application, in the reviewal of Bogue and Bennet, 
page 91. There is another remark of yours which shows 
that your thoughts and mine have been travelling in the 
same direction ; it is when you ask whether the character 
of a poem determines its form, or the form determines 
its character. No man but a poet could have asked the 
question. I find the metre infiuences the style so mate* 
rially, that nothing ever embarasses me so much as the 
choice of the mould in which a new poem shall be cast. 
The only thing of which experience has made me certain 
is, that blank verse, of aU measures the easiest to a be- 
ginner, is the most difficult to a proficient in versification. 

Montgomery (he is easily recognised) has given me 
the best kind of praise, though he has considered as an 
ode a poem to which I affixed a generic name purposely? 
that an ode might not be expected. The Ghreeks, on 



168 .CORBESFONDEXTS. 

such an occasion, would have had an oration ; our cnstotn 
required Bomething in verse. The circumstances and the 
subject therefore led me to compose an oration in rerse, 
to which the running strain of thanksgiving gives the 
unit^ which is required in a poem. I am at work upon 
an epithalamium for the Princess's marriage, which in 
its moral tone may redeem that class of compositions 
from their merited contempt. 

I see by the Evofigelical Magazine that a Cornish 
minister is about to travel from Bayonne to Lisbon, 
distributing Bibles and Testaments and tracts as he 
goes. Indeed, this is very rash, and dreadfully ill timed. 
The partisans of the Inquisition in Spain have by no 
means given up the hope of recovering the ground which 
they have lost. In Portugal, on the other hand, those 
persons who know the evil which that devilish institution 
has brought upon their country, are endeavouring silently 
to destroy its power. I know of nothing which would 
tend so materially to defeat the efforts of the good in one 
country, and to assist the persecuting party in the other, 
as the appearance of this heretical missionary. He him* 
self may be thrown into prison (which no doubt he would 
cheerfully encounter) — ^this is alight evil; but he may bring 
his own coimtry into most unpleasant difficulties with 
the Spanish Government ; and I am perfectly sure that 
he must impede the good work which he is desirous of 
accelerating. God knows, there never was a man who felt 
a more rooted abhorrence than I do for the abominations 
of Popery, or who longs more earnestly to see the Bible 
brought into action against them. But this mode of 
proceeding is madness. The only way to get the Bible 
into use there is through the agency of persons of their 
own religion and their own country. There are some 
priests who are really pious enough to do it. An English* 



ROBERT SOUTHEY. 169 

man settled in Spain might have an edition of the licensed 
Spanish Bible printed thefe, and distribute it through 
such persons. There is no other way in which ^e could 
interfere safely, and even this might inyolve Imn in some 
difficulties. If you should ever, as you talked of, em- 
bark in a Magazine, let it be a part of your plan to col- 
lect for the missionary societies as much previous infor- 
mation as can be found to direct their future or assist 
their present establishments. At this time, a paper 
upon the state of religion in the Peninsula, written with 
proper knowledge of the subject, might perhaps prevent 
this very injurious and mischievous experiment. 

Eerwick, Januaiy 28, 1815. 

IV. My beab Sib, — I have dealt very uncivilly by 
you, an^ am heartily ashamed of it. Let this suffice for 
apology — and forgive me. 

• I thought ere this to have offered you an article for 
your Beview, taking for its text some pamphlets of Per- 
ring's upon the state of our ships in the navy, and from 
thence examining, with all freedom and in the real 
spirit of reform, the state of the, men as well as of the 
timber. The delay has not been from idleness, but from 
over-occupation ; and in some respects it has been fortu- 
nate, for I understand Perring's plans have now been so 
far adopted as to satisfy him, and a most essential step 
has been taken towards improving the condition of the 
men, by setting them free after twenty-one years of ser- 
vice, with a fair pension for life : a measure which I 
earnestly caUed for some years ago. What I have to 
toy therefore may be said now with more grace, as there 
wOl be much to commend. 

The moral defects of Lord Byron's poems are well 
pointed out in the Eclectic, and due justice is done to the 



170 CORRESPONDENTS, 

vigour of his style. But there is a radical and charao 
teristic fault in most of bis tales, which has not been 
sufficiently exposed ; the characters which he describes 
are impossible ; no such ever have existed, or ever can 
exist. It is perfectly absurd to suppose that anything 
like the strong, abiding, soul-rooted feeling of love can 
be found in a buccaneer — ^setting all the other unaccount- 
able parts of the story out of the question. His charac- 
ters are made up of contradictions; and because the 
parts are all powerfully drawn, common readers never 
pause to ask themselves whether they coidd possibly 
cohere. Do not imagine that I blame him for portray- 
ing mixed characters — ^there is alloy enough in the best 
of us, GK)d knows ! — I condemn him for making an im« 
possible mixture. The real cause of this monstrosity is 
sufficiently obvious. Like Montgomery, he has been 
painting from the looking-glass ; but he had not so good 
an original, and, unlike Montgomery, his day-dreams 
have been of evil. His fancy has brooded upon his own 
heart, and, cameleon-Uke, taken its colour from thence : 
unhappily, the colour is a dark one. And being con- 
scious that he is in many of his feelings, and most or all 
of his opinions (certainly in all that relates to the highest 
and holiest subjects), a sort of outlaw in the world, he 
makes his heroes bid defiance to all positive law, and 
transfers to them all his own imhappy principles. But 
men who act like his characters are men not of bad prin* 
ciples, but of no principles ; not of diseased feelings, but 
of callous ones. Lord B. has just married a woman who 
is said to be one of the loveli^ and most accomplished 
of her sex. When he finds himself a happier man, he 
may perhaps become a better one. But the experiment 
on her part is a perilous one ; and I should tremble if 
she were my daughter. 



ROBERT SOUTHEY. 171 

Tou have not, in my judgment, given Bloomfield 
more praise than he deserves. The sort of popularity, 
indeed, which he obtained at one time coiQd not, from its 
nature, be lasting; but he will hold his place. A very" 
interesting man, and a thoroughly estimable one, who 
never over-valued himself, but poured forth a sweet 
strain of his own. 

Of the many self-taught men who have appeared in 
this coimtry, Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, is one of the 
most remarkable. He spent a couple of days with me 
last summer, and left me as much pleased with the un* 
affected plainness and simplicity of his conversation, as I 
was with the vigour and life that appear in his writings. 
He is the rising star of Scotland. The Scotch, you 
know, have a public of their own. Edinburgh is a 
Scotchman's London, and I might almost say his king- 
dom come — ^for most of them seem to think that nothing 
greater or better can be found anywhere else, here or 
hereafter. 

I have heard of Jeffrey's reviewal of the "Excursion,'* 
not seen it. But it is my full intention to take this 
occasion of exposing Jeffrey's ignorance, malice, and 
self-contradictions. Most likely it will be through the 
medium of a newspaper, as giving it the widest circida^ 
tion. I shall enter fully into the subject, and treat him 
with all the severity that he so amply has deserved. 
There can be no difficulty in showiQg that a man who 
does not admire the " Excursion" cannot possibly under* 
stand what he may pretend to admire in Milton. « 

.... I do not Uke the political aspects. The good 
which might have been done at the overthrow of Buona* 
parte has been left undone; and even if exhaustion 
should produce a peace for some time to come, there 
fire abundant seeds of war left to germinate. Italy 



172 COKEE8PONDENT8, 

ought to have been fonned into one great state.' I 
would rather have seen it a federal republic than a king- 
dom ; for when we have to begin anew upon clear unen* 
cumbered ground, I cannot but believe a republic to be 
the best thing. But as kingdoms, naturally enough, are 
most in fashion, I would gladly have seen it a kingdom, 
and given to anybody — ^who had not actually deserved 
the gallows. Had Buonaparte been a wise man, he 
would, at the Peace of Amiens, have restored the Bour- 
bons, and taken Italy for himself; but he had already 
given himself over to evil. I suppose you know that a 
Frenchman who, in 1802, published a " History of the 
Egyptian Expedition," haa now published a second edi- 
tion, and inserted a full account of the massacre at Jaffi^ 
to which he was himself eye-witness ! 

Keswick, March 29, 1815. 

V. Mt beab Sib, — ^I thank you for your Beviews, 
and thank you for your letter, and I thai^ you for re- 
membering me in the distribution of your wedding-cake. 
I wish you all the happiness which your new state of life 
can bestow, and which can not be experienced in any 
other. It has its anxieties, its trials, and its sufferings 
also : may few of these be dispensed to your lot ! Pre- 
sent my congratulations to Mrs. Gonder. We have long 
known each other in print ; and one of the pleasures 
which I look forward to in my next visit to London, is 
that of becoming personally acquainted with one whom I 
BO sincerely respect. 

Had I known you were about to visit Bristol, I would 
have directed you to some of my fiftvourite haunts in 
former times, and would have introduced you to my old 
friend Joseph Cottle, who, though he has mistaken the 
bent of his powers most deplorably, is nevertheless a 



EGBERT SOUTHEY. 173 

man of no common powers, and of most exemplary good- 
ness in all relations of life that lie lias been called to M. 
I put the review of the "Excursion" into Wordsworth's 
hands ; he was much pleased with it, and desired me to 
convey to the author his sense of the very handsome 
and very able manner in which his work was treated, and 
especially of the spirit in which the criticism is written. 
Your articles on the " Velvet Cushion" and on Allison 
are both exceedingly well written : in great part of both 
I agree with you, and where I do not, still I admire both 
the manner and spirit. My attachment to the Esta- 
blished Church, in preference to any other existing form of 
Christianity, is not founded in bigotry or in prejudice ; 
for, though I conform to it, I do not subscribe to its 
a«rticles, and am thereby precluded from being (what 
otherwise I should most ardently desire to be) one of its 
ministers. You are wrong in thinking that our cathedral 
service is inferior to that of the mass-book. The 
cathedral service you feel to be solemn ; who indeed can 
fail to feel it so ? But it would be impossible for you 
not to see that the mass is a mummery, and not to feel, 
if you reflected upon what was going on, that it is gross 
and monstrous idolatry. I have seen it performed before 
the Court of Portugal, and the only thing |(vhich I could 
have borrowed from it was its incense. P. 345 : Sir 
Henry Vane is classed by Towgood, upon Clarendon's 
authority, as a member of the Church of England. It is 
enough for me to remember Milton's sonnet to Vane, 
and to know how he behaved upon his trial and at his 
death, to hold him in high veneration. But he was 
certainly a Puritan and a fJEUiatic. I have one of his" 
books, which contains abundant proof that fanaticism 
had deprived him of all judgment, and even of all genius, 
when treating upon religious subjects. The account 



174 C0BEE8P0NDENTS. 

which you have quoted of Mr. Sutclife's death is very 
fine ; and your concluding passage perfectly expresses my 
feeling upon these subjects. Mr. Grilbert made a very 
just remark to me, when, agreeing with me that men 
might go to hearen by different paths, he observed that 
the path which might lead me there might not lead him. 
I entirely assent to this. Every man must walk accord- 
ing to his light. 

I thought you a little too severe to Child Alarique. 
And with regard to Scott, though it is impossible that I 
should not perceive the faults of the story, and the ex* 
treme inaccuracy of the style, yet my opinion is much 
more favourable than yours. There is frequently a fine 
conception of the old chivalrous character, and almost 
always a strength and vividness in the outline which he 
offers you. Lord Byron's faults are to me far worse than 
Scott's, and they are likely to produce a much worse 
effect upon the herd of imitative writers. It is a clumsy 
mode of narration to give you the characters of men by 
describing them, instead of letting the character describe 
itself in the course of the story ; but strip one of Lord 
Byron's poems of these descriptions, and what remains ? 
The fable is a mere nothing ; and the characters them* 
selves are incongruous even to absurdity. 

.... How dismally has the prospect changed! 
Buonaparte will have the Italians with him, and a power- 
fid party in Switzerland, and the wishes of the Belgians. 
But I think the struggle will end in his destruction. I 
could almost persuade myself that he is the instrument of 
drawing upon France those evils which she has so long 
and so mercilessly inflicted upon other countries; that 
the generation which he has bred up in blood and blas- 
phemy are to perish by the sword ; and that Paris, which 
I verily believe to be a guiltier city than even Borne or 



mm 



ROBEET SOUTHEY. 175 

Constantinople, will be made a signal exampfe of the 
vengeance of Gtod and man. I wish I could feel the 
same confidence respecting the state of things at home * 
but the more I reflect upon the changes that have taken 
place within my own remembrance, and upon the prin« 
ciples which are at work, the more reason there appears to 
me for apprehending a dreadAil overthrow of all esta« 
bUshed institutions, 

Keswiok, July 5, 1815. 

VI. You ask me upon what grounds I apprehend 
that aU established institutions are in danger. The 
stream of events seems to have set against them, and, in 
the depth and sincerity of my heart, I fear that, at no 
very distant time, they will aU be swept away. 

You are not old enough to remember the morning of 
the Prench Eevolution, and the delirious effect it pro- 
duced upon generous and inexperienced minds. Did 
you ever inhale the nitrous oxide ? We seemed to be 
living in such an atmosphere. The republicans and 
levellers (or, in one word, the Jacobins) of that day con* 
sisted of the best and worst members of society. There 
were the daring and the desperate, the profligate and the 
atheist ; but there were also those who would have offered 
up their lives like martyrs, and who gave proof of their 
sincerity by trampling aU worldly interests under foot. 
The G-ovemment went mad in an opposite direction, and 
pltinged the country into a war, of which the third act is 
only just begun 1 Prom that error (in my coolest and 
most unbiassed judgment) I believe the chief calamities 
of Europe are to be dated. They had the mob with them, 
who were then anti- Jacobins to a man ; and what the 
spirit of anti-Jacobinism is was shown by the Emperor's 
treatment of La&yette, and by the Birmingham rioters. 



176 C0EBE8P0NDENT8. 

In those days I was a Jacobin, and so was almost 
every man whom I knew, who had any claims to my lore 
or respect. But you would hardly believe how small a 
minority we were. I am old enough, and have been 
diligent enough, to have acquired the groundwork of 
historical knowledge, without which any political princi- 
ples must be referred to inclination rather than judgment; 
and the last twenty-five years have added much to the 
great book of experience. The Jacobins now are so 
numerous, that in the lower classes I believe they are 
greatly the majority. Where there was one reader in 
those classes then, there are twenty now. There were 
not half a dozen opposition newspapers then ; there are 
scarcely as many now that are not Jacobioical. And when 
the haJf-leamed address themselves to the ignorant, their 
misrepresentations, their mistakes, their malice, and their 
blunders are all received as gospeL Upon this subject 
I said something in the Quarterly, which, mutilated as it 
was, will explain what I would now say more fully than 
I can express myself. The populace are at this time 
decidedly Jacobinical. Our friend Neville can tell you 
how peirifectly well they understand the art of finance ; 
and you have lately seen in London, as well as in the 
Luddite countries, that they are well skilled in the art of 
insurrection. The question is — ^is there time for the edu- 
cation which the populace at last are beginning to receive 
to produce its effect, before the prevailing levelling prin- 
ciples bring about a revolution in this country ? I hope 
BO, but verily I think there is not. 

I am inclined to believe that no doctrines have ever 
obtained a wide and influential belief^ without some 
foundation in truth. Most heresies, for instance, are 
founded upon a strong perception of some particular 
truth or tenet, which possesses the mind, to the exclusion 



EGBERT SOUTHEY. 177 

of others not less important in themselves. The evils of 
the existing state of society are but too obvious — every 
man may perceive them ; but every man does not know 
that, in the present condition of the human race, we have 
only a choice of evils, and that if reform be not gradual 
it brings with it worse evils than those which it removes. 
Inequality, in the extent to which it prevails among us, 
is an evil ; I kuow not how a man of cultivated intellect 
and feelings can contemplate the difference between him- 
self and a hackaey-coachman without shuddering. There 
are evils inseparable firom a monarchical system; but, 
gracious God! what are the evils which would over- 
whelm us, if we were to attempt to change it ! Our Church 
Establishment has its evils. You and I should not agree 
as to what those evils are ; my conception of them is such 
as to exclude me from the clerical profession. But I am 
fully convinced of the utility of an Establishment ; and 
though, if I were to form one for a colony, it would differ 
materially from our own, I dare not wish an alteration 
which would entail upon us ages of religious anarchy, 
and perhaps of dvil war. 

Let me save time by referring you, on this subject, to 
the Sd. Ann, Begister^ vol. iv. p. 138. There you may 
see what dangers (in my opinion) assail one part of our 
complicated system. The monarchy has to contend, not 
only with the spirit of the times, but with other causes 
which it is enough to hint at. The science of finance I do 
not pretend to understand ;• this, however, is apparent, 
that it rests upon public credit for its basis, and I know 
that if the bullionists in 1811 had carried the question 
in Parliament, it would have been utterly impossible to 
have carried on the war. 

The world has its intellectual as well as its physical 
plagues. BeligiouB intolerance has been the endemic in 



178 CORRESPONDENTS. 

one age, the lust of conquest in another ; in this it ifl the 
spirit of revolution. The mind of the populace is revolo. 
tionized in England. As soon as the army is so, all is 
oyer. A great statesman might fail in averting the 
danger ; but where are we to look for a great one ? This 
country never sustained a greater loss than in Fercival, 
who had two of the great essentials — sound moral prin- 
ciples and undaunted courage. I have filled my sheet, 
and yet very imperfectly expressed what I would say. I 
have a book of Gregoire's to review ("Hist, des Sectes"), 
in which I will bring in your pamphlet ; and I owe your 
BfCview a paper, which I will pay whenever I can com- 
mand time. Accord with it I do not, neither do I with ] 
the Quarterly in many things ; but it is enough if I be 
consistent with myself, and so I cast my bread upon the 
waters. The review of " Eoderick" is from a friendly 
hand — ^indeed, I know it is Montgomery's; but it is 
singularly erroneous. How could he read so inatten- 
tively as to imagine that Siverian had married Boderick's 
mother P or complain that there was too much of costume 
in a poem, the subject of which laboured under the 
grievous defect of literally having none? And upon 
what Christian principles, except those of the Socinians, 
can he object to my addressing the mother of Christ, as 
'^ Holiest Mary, maid and mother?" There is something 
so divine in the belief, it is so exactly what one would 
wish it to be, that I confess this fitness inclines me to 
believe it more than any evidence for the authenticity of 
those parts in Matthew and Luke which the Socinians 
dispute. I would say more, and upon other topics, if 
there were room. 

Ketwiok, Marah 18, 1818. 

YII. Would that my poem were as free from other 
finults as it is from that which you have apprehended ! 



ROBERT SOUTHEY. 179 

A Quaker would not subscribe to its feelings, but you, I 
think, might without scruple. Upon this subject I hold 
it equally a criine to foster the military spirit in time of 
peace, as it is to deaden and depress it in time of need. 
While Buonaparte reigned, the object to be kept in view 
was not the horrors of war, but the degradation of the 
human race, to which his system (exclusively military as 
it was) directly, and ahnost avowedly, tended. We may 
shudder at a field of battle with safety now, and instruct 
others to shudder at it. 

I must complain of an omission in your 
letter. You mention Mrs. Conder, but there is a third 
person in the family of whose well-doing I should be 
glad to hear. This person must now be growing fast in 
your favour ; when they begin to know you, and you can 
handle their soffc firames without fear, they very soon lay 
fast hold upon a father's heart, and he finds that there 
are deeper springs of affection in his nature than he had 
ever before discovered. 

Another reading, and you and I shall not differ about 
the " White Doe." The faults are glaring and on the sur- 
face; admit them, and then read for the beauties. There 
is neither impiety nor nonsense there — there is much 
mysticism. This evening I came upon a text in the Wis- 
dom implying pre-existence in the belief of its writer : 
" For I was a witty child, and had a good spirit. Yea 
rather, hemg good, I came into a body tmdefiled.** This 
notion will explain a good deal in Wordsworth. 

Keswick, AuguBt 13, 1816. 

VIII. The date which I have just written reminds me 

that yesterday completed my forty-second year. Few 

men have lived longer — ^if the expression may be allowed 

— ^in the same length of time. I have been married 



1 80 C0BRESP0NDENT8. 

more than twenty years, and have experienced, in no 
common degree, both good and ill ; wrongs and benefits, 
happiness and afiOiction, changes of opinion, loss of dear 
friends, of parents, and of children. I am younger, per* 
haps, in constitution than in years, but older in feelings 
than in either. Both my father and mother died at the 
age of fifty. Their deaths, in both instances, were acce* 
lerated, if not occasioned, by wasting anxieties ; but the 
race is not long-lived, and I do not expect to prove an 
exception to it. I used to pray for continued life ; with- 
out being weary of life, I have ceased to do this. No 
person could have supplied my place to Herbert ; daugh* 
ters neither require nor admit of the same tuition ; and 
as they will be decently provided for after my departure, 
they can spare me, and I need not be solicitous concern* 
ing them. 

Do not mistake me. I possess abundant blessings, 
and am capable of enjoying them. With what feelings I 
have long contemplated death many of my poems w^ill 
indicate ; — ^it may be seen in " Thalaba," in " Kehama,'* 
and in " Eoderick," — still more in the proem to an un- 
finished poem, written two years ago. The late loss 
which I have sustained has not created these feelings, 
but it has rendered them more vivid. The strongest 
root which fastened me to the world is broken, and I 
have now more ties in heaven than upon earth, I have 
borne the loss with much self-command, and perfect re- 
signation. Common sense, common humanity, some 
little mixture of pride perhaps, and the stoicism which 
I 'laid to my heart in youth might have produced the 
first ; and of all virtues there is surely none which de- 
serves to be held so cheaply as that of resignation to 
what is inevitable and irremediable. But I hope I have 
persuaded myself feelingly that what has happened is 



ROBERT SOUTHEY. 181 

best ; that I acquiesce in the dispensation, and neither 
indulge nor acknowledge a wish that it should have been 
otherwise. My will is annihilated, and my heart is 
strong ; but, in spite of that outward control which I am 
constantly able to maintain, recollections will come upon 
me by day and by night, and every hour, which make me 
feel the weakness of philosophy, and the inestimable 
value of the faith which looks beyond the grave. The 
best teachers are Love and Affliction. Enough, oi^ too 
much of this. I thought to have sent you some remarks 
on some of your last numbers, but the time went by, 
and the feeling has evaporated. They related to some 
wrong-headed and mischievous politics (coming, I believe, 
from Foster), and to the unbecoming manner in which 

the Abbe Edgeworth's memoirs were mentioned 

When we see men doing their duty with heroic devotion, 
if a difference of opinion prevent us from feeling sym- 
pathy or expressing admiration, we have some reason to 
suspect that our own opinions are not what they ought to 
be. I can feel equal respect and equal compassion for 
Madame Eoland and Madame Elizabeth, for the better 
part of the Girondists, and the better part of the Ven- 
deans. My mind was not always capable of this equity. 
In the days of Jacobinism I did not like to contemplate 
the virtues of the Royalist party ; and when the Queen 
of France suffered, I strove to qualify or quench the 
compassion and indignation which I could not help feel- 
ing at her murder, by dwelling upon her vices and her 
imputed crimes. In this, as in many other things, time 
has done me good, and taught me to do more justice to 
human nature. 

In this new Quarterly I have written upon the Ven- 
dean war, and upon the Poor. For this latter article 
Murray pays me £100. Chance-hits in literature have 



182 C0RBE8P0NDENTS. 

sometimeB produced even more disproportionate profit to 
the writer ; but for a deliberate price this is very great, 
and much more than I should ever have thought of 

asking I conclude this letter after and amid 

many interruptions. Tours, very truly, 

EOBEBT SOUTHET. 



Ebom the Bsv. Bobebt Hall. 

8th May, 1814 

Deab Sib, — ^I have made some beginning in the 
article of Belsham's " Memoirs of Lindsay," but have 
been much hindered by several unexpected engagements. 
I heartily repent having undertaken it, as there is no- 
thing more irksome to me than reviewing. But having 
promised, I will (God willing) go through with it. I 
cannot set about it immediately ; I am printing an ad- 
dress, delivered to Mr. Carey. When this is finished I 
have a circular letter to write for the Baptist Associ- 
ation, so that I cannot enter upon Belsham till the 
Whitsun week. I will then set upon it in earnest, and 
hope I shall complete it in a fortnight or three weeks. 
You may probably wonder I should want so long a pe- 
riod, but I am an amazi/ng slow writer, and my inter- 
ruptions and avocations, of one kind or another, are very 
numerous ; so that it is but a small part of my time I can 
devote to writing. I am sorry to have occasioned you 
any uneasiness. When I have completed the two things 
I have mentioned, I will try immediately and finish as 
soon as I can. I am, dear sir, yours most respectfully, 

B. Hall. 

8d July, 1814. 

II. I have read with much pleasure the last number 



ROBERT HALL. 183 

of the EclecHcy and thank you for the notes you enclosed, 
which is more than an adequate remuneration of my 
labour. The article respectii^ Burgesd is written with 
much ability, and an excellent spirit. I have only to 
regret that the writer persists in giving the appellation 
of Unitarian to the Socinians. Much mischief, I know, 
is effected by the appellation, fraught with insolence and 
coUusion. For my own part, I am determined never to 
bestow it upon them. 

The third article I should say without hesitation, were 
I not writing to its author, is by far the most vigorous 
and eloquent in the number. I am persuaded you cannot 
consult the interest of the work better than by similar 
contributions to it. With Foster's I was not equally 
pleased. It appears to me to be written, certainly, with 
considerable originality, but in a very bad taste. What 
a pity it is Mr. Foster cannot be induced to pay more 
attention to the construction of his periods, and to many 
other of the subordinate graces of composition. As it is, 
he often instructs, sometimes astonishes, but seldom 
please» me. If he would take pains to write ... he 
might alone raise the Eclectic to a very considerable emi- 
nence. I am much charmed with the review of CoUin- 
Bon. It is altogether masterly — just what it ought to 
be. He is a writer you cannot employ too often. On 
the whole, I think the work is considerably improving, 
and I am delighted to hear you have no doubt of its per- 
manence. With all its imperfections, it appears to be a 
most usefid ' and important publication. I wish its 
Calvinism (?) were less prominent, its reviews more ana- 
lytical, and its composition more simple, transparent, and 
Addisonian. Elegance, not an affected splendour, is 
the quality which always longest pleases. I am perfectly 
satisfied with the alterations ; they are all improvements, 



184 COERESPONDENTS. 

except the change of " audacity" for " impudence."* Tar 
my own part, I like to call a spade a spade. Pardon my 
freedom, and believe me to be, with much respect, yours 
sincerely, 

20th September, 1815. 
III. I owe you many apologies for not sooner noticing 
the letter you were so good as to address to me a con* 
siderable time since. The only reason I can plead for my 
silence is the pain it necessarily gives me to put a nega- 
tive upon your wishes, warmly and, as I believe, sincerely 
expressed. Affcer having so frequently stated my repug- 
nance to writing reviews, I feel myself at an utter loss to 
express the same sentiment in terms more strong or effi- 
cacious. There is no kind of literary exertion to which 
[I feel] an equal aversion^ by many degrees ; and were 
such things determined by choice, it is my deliberate 
opinion I should prefer going out of the world by any 
tolerable mode of death, than incur the necessity of 
writing three or four articles in a year. I must there- 
fore beg and entreat I may not be urged again upon a 
subject so ineffably repugnant to all the sentiments of 
my heart. From what I have seen of the recent execu- 
tion of the work especially, I am convinced my assistance 
is not in the least wanted. It is, I believe, growing daily 
in reputation, and I hope in circulation ; and I have no 
doubt but that, under your skillful management and that 
of your coadjutors, its reputation will not only be sus- 
tained, but will be sufficient to engage far superior assist- 
ance to mine. I admire the Bible Society inexpressibly ; 

* Thifl, M it happened, wtm the oni^ alteration in Mr. Hall's aitide 
wbioh the editorial pen had made. 



JOHN FOSTER. 185 

but how is it possible to say anything in its praise or 
vindication which has not been said a thousand times ? 
.... Besides, let me add, my dear sir, that my other 
engagements are such, that the business of reviewing is 
incompatible with them, unless I were to form the reso- 
lution of having nothing to do with the press in any other 
form. I feel myself much honoured by the expression of 
your kind regard, and beg leave to assure you that I am, 
with the truest esteem, your sincere £riend and obedient 
servant, . . 

BoBEBT Hall* 

Ebom the Eey. John Eosteb. 

1814. 

Sib, — It is not given me to attain anything like 
the power of despatch, and I am forced to look to to- 
morrow for the conclusion of this trifling article, which 
I am vexed to have been betrayed into the making all 
of introduction. Thi^ bulk of head will decline fast 
into a slight snipped tail, as in some fishes. 

I have been looking at the article, " History of Dis-» 
senting Deputies." As to the first part of it, it is most 
unconscionable to eke, and fiU, and lengthen by such 
monstrous quantities of extract, especially when the 
book itself costs but a few shillings. It looks a most 
palpable and evident shift of book-making art. And 
then, too, a slow toilsome journeyman like me, who 
takes very little advantage of this resource for getting 
up an article, begins to look about him, and say — If. this 
sort of workmanship is to be paid just the same as my 
toiHng method, I shall be a fool to. go on in my present 
-manner ; I will earn my pence more easily, and will not, 
by the proportion, in ^ jobs, of contiauous composition, 
just contribute to give other journeymen the fair occa- 



186 ' GOBRESPONDENTS. 

sion and plea for filling their spaces in this slight and 
easy way. It is against all equity that thus work and no 
work should, as to the doers, come to the same thing; and 
that even the work should absolutely be taken advantage 
of, in the way of securing a tolerance for the no-work. I 
have ofben enough grumbled within myself (for since Par- 
ken's time I have never said to an editor one word about it) 
at seeing articles made up in such a way as that I could 
not have thought myself £Eiirly earning the pence, if I had 
worked so. . . . Beviews of poetry, especially, have 
been done in this most inequitable manner. After 
two or three pages of observations, there would be page 
after page of mere dead transcription ; indeed, less than 
that — ^mere trtms'prmti/ng, interlined with just here and 
there a trifling sentence, as a link. I have, in now and 
then an instance, very seldom, made the experiment 
whether I could not thus earn a half-crown or two by 
transcribing a page of verse, as an eker-out; but I have 
generally found there had not been room for its insertionl 
And possibly there would be, in the very same number, 
an article absolutely made up of such ekings. The only 
thing that can prevent the honest genuine figs among 
your workpeople being indignant at such an article as 
this about the '* DUsenters^* is, that all articles made up 
in such a way be understood to be done by the Pro* 
prietor of the Beview, Se stands on quite a different 
ground, and it may be perfectly fair for Am to take this 
advantage, as a trade expedient for lessening expense. 

. . . Southey was very incompetently criticised, and 
unhandsomely treated in the first instance or two of 
notice in the Eclectic. But subsequently there has been 
enough of conscience done to placate him. In the re* 
view of '^ Kehama," he was, as to his talents, lauded and 
incentedy speciali gratid^ with a designed effort to go the 



JOHN FOSTER. 187 

very utmost outside length of conscious truth, partly in 
consideration of former injustice. Since that time, our 
reviewers have several times gone directly out of their 
way to cajole him with laudations and reverences, which 
have appeared to me as little due as the occasions of 
offering them were forced and awkward. With great 
admiration of his genius, or at least some of its proper- 
ties, I am quite of the opinion of the JEdinburgh Seview, 
that it is perverted and depraved ahominably. I utterly 
nauseate and abhor a great part of his poetical produc- 
tions. The substitution of an affected, quaint, false sim- 
plicity for a genuine and manly simplicity ; the incurable 
passion for queer, grotesque, paltiy, and even dirty su- 
perstitions — above all, his lending himself, with at least 
as much of his heart and soul as he gives to on^ of the 
subjects of his poetry, to the abominations, at once loath- 
some, inexpressibly puerile, and enormous, of the Mexi* 
can and Hindoo idolatries — expose to me a mind at 
once of the worst possible taste, destitute of all the 
high order of moral sentiments, and most wickedly 
trifling with respect to religion. He never seems to be 
truly and honestly serious about anything ; there is no- 
thing of the deep manly tone of firm conviction and 
earnest interest. In his prose, you find him perpetually 
paltering with conceits, and catches, and hits, and gibes, 
instead of intently pursuing an object with a sustained 
appearance of feeling its importance. He is the sneerer- 
general of our literature ; and he has his appropriate re- 
ward— rthe butt of sack. 
* 

II. Sib, — It was about that Southey that we were 
talking ; — ^and here is his Carmen Trinmphale bepraised 
in our sapient BevieWf with some staring extravagance 
about one of the stanzas being enough to " create a soul 



1 88 CORRESPONDENTS. 

beneath the ribs of death," and the like ; as puerile rant 
as any enemy of the Beview could desire to see in its 
pages. The poem itself appears to me in just the same 
light as it seems to do to the generality of its readers, 
to its newspaper critics, and to the Edinburgh re- 
viewer. This very stanza, here selected for its poetic omni- 
potence, is among the JSdmbur^h Beview* s specimens of the 

imbecility of the production It is one of the most 

prominent circumstances about Southey, that he seems to 
have no perception of what is profane — ^r worse, does 
not care about it. In his " Madoc" and " Kehama," he 
applies largely, without the smallest scruple, to the 
filthy infemalities of the two superstitions the terms 
peculiarly consecrated to the Almighty, even in the Bible. 
..." Up, Q-ermany !" — ^a very vulgar-sounding apos- 
trophe, to be sure. But it is the " land of the virtuous 
and the wise," and of "free mind :" perhaps he here means 
almost uniyersal infidelity. I have heard as acute and 
vigilant and wide-viewing an observer as ever looked at 
Germany (Coleridge) describe the majority, if not the 
substantial body, of even the Protestant preachers there 

as real genuine Deists I cannot help having a 

suspicious guess at this critic, and have had a number of 
occasions for repeating an opinion that there is something 
in his mind that vdU always keep him a very young man, 
in the less desirable sense of the word. But pray, in the 
name of seventeen years of age, let me conjure you not 
to let the Beview be disgraced with such ostentatious 
schoolboy rants 

III. Sib, — ^In the last, in which I spoke of Southey, I 
meant fully and finally to dismiss the subject. My refer- 
ence to him had been chiefly with a view to try to do a 
little in the way of preventing, if it might be possible, the 



JOHN FOSIER. 189 

JSclectic Review being made a vehicle of .fiiLsoine 
cajolery to- him. Very probably it is not possible, and 
the effort may go to the large amount of labour lost. 

I have not the sHghtest personal acquaintance 

with Southey. The only time I was ever within the 
same walls with him was once, some seven or eight years 
since, in a news-room inBristol, where, sitting in a comer, 
I most vigilantly listened to a conversation between him 
and another of the literati, and was a little surprised (for 
I had not read his poetry with much attention) at the 
heedless and careless manner in which he made use of 
the name of the Almighty, And truly, it appears to me 
that profaneness — ^virtual irreligion — is one of the most 
prominent features of his authorship. He has trifled 
with epithets, appellations, attributes of Divinity — 
bandied about expressions of solemnity and phrases of 
worship among the idols and phantasms of Paganism — 
accepted aU sorts of superstitions for the sake of poetical 
effect — ^till I believe he has reaUy lost aU steady percep- 
tion of that awful interdictive boundary which guards, if I 
may so express it, the Holy Mount of the Diviae Pre-r 
sence . . . , 

One is less aggrieved, and indeed perhaps less than one 
ought, with his Mahommeckmism, His Allah has, at any 
rate, nothiag to do with polytheism ; modem philosophic 
liberality may be pleased to take it as another, only a 
heretical, name of the true God.* But I am afraid some 
part of one's comparative tolerance arises £rom its being 
so immensely more dignified in poetry than the silly and 
filthy abominables of Mexico and India. I am greatly 
more pleased with "Thalaba" than the other performances, 

* How can it be called **anothernasne^* when it is one of the namee 
constantly employed in the Hebrew Scriptures ? 



190 COEEE8PONDENT8. 

But, setting aside, the AHfth, etc., etc., of the piece, there 
are some parts which, by their infinite silliness, make one 
shrink with irksomeness and shame. Think, for instance, 
of the Simorg, the bird that knows all things ! . . . . The 
man seems to have no perception of the difference between 
a dignified\)o\djx!d^%, and even extravagance, of fiction, and 
a childish, silly extravagance — ^between epic gicmtism, if I 
may so express it, and a futile, phantastic monstrosity. 
He has been so much and fondly conversant with the 
insipid ravings and dreams of so many drivelling super- 
stitions, that he has spoiled, most likely irrecoverably, his 
own great genius. His pride of independence would not 
let him stay in the school of Milton, and here are the 
consequences. With all his pride, he was not strong 
enough to venture into vastness without a guide or 
attendant. He could not tread the crude consistence of 
Chaos with an angel's port, step, and stride. But he will 
certainly go floundering on — I mean, unless you, recol- 
lecting that " friendship" should be a compact of mutual 
utility, shall setyourself earnestly to recall him, instead of 
shouting honour and glory, as you do, without exception 
or limit, when he sends you a canto of his MSS. As to 
our " differing in totd'^ about the merits of his poetry, that 
can hardly be, unless even my praises are in the wrong 
place — ^unless it is not for the vividness of his conception, 
the perfection of his painting, the richness and diversity 
and accuracy of whatever he writes in the way of descrip- 
tion, the tenderness sometimes of his sentiments, and the 
vast scope of his observation and knowledge, that he it 
to be admired. ... I have now positively and finally 
done with Southey. I will not say one word more 
about him, though you shoiild in the impending article 
about his '' Nelson," extol him to the very heavens, to 
which he has so profSanely extolled so many idols before. 



JOHN FOSTER. 191 

IV. The sequel of the article on Dr. William's books 
I have read but a few pages of, though I mean imme- 
diately to read the whole of it, and even, I think, the 
book itself. I have read enough of this second part to 
see that it is marked with the same matchless insensi- 
bility to the real views and difficulty of the speculation. 
I do marvel, with the most unfeigned emotion, to see with 
what perfect self-complacency (in this respect, I should 
hope, not resembling his author) the theological critic 
goes on, settling every question with perfect ease, and 
avoiding just those very aspects of the subject which render 
it desirable that that subject should be elucidated. The 
stupendous fact is, that an Almighty Being could have 
made all his intelligent creatures such, and placed them 
in such circumstances, that they would infallibly be good 
and happy ; but that, on the contrary. He has, of choice 
infinitely sovereign and free, made and placed th^m so 
that many of them would infallibly, fipom their nature 
and situation, be bad and miserable.* The fact is be- 

• The master-difficulty of theology and of religion could haxdly be 
more pointedly stated ; yet the statement rests on two assumptions, 
of which one is not evidently true, and the other is evidently false. 
The first is, that there are no conditions of creation, because the Cre- 
ator is almighty. But Omnipotence itself cannot accompUsh a contra- 
diction. And to create a moral nature that cawnot be made good by 
compulsion, but only by love, wisdom, habit, and spiritual influence, 
and then to compel it to be good, would be a contradiction. God's 
power, perse, is illimitable; but by the very &ct of creation, He limits 
Himself; e. g,, if He decides to create according to fixed laws. He 
limits Himself to observe these laws. If God has made creatures 
who cawnot^ good and happy by necessity or circumstance, He has 
limited his own power in one direction, that He might exercise it in an- 
other. The other assumption is in the word ^^ goods'* m if there could 
be moral goodness with no power or temptation to go wrong. " In- 
fiUlible goodness" in a creattire, means power to choose only one voay* 



192 CORRESPONDENTS. 

yond all question, and it appears to me that all attempts 
to explain it, and, as they somewhat pro£Anely say, 
"justify" it, are wretched and firuitless trifling. In a 
perfect Calvinist they are so to a desperate excess. The 
only kind of philosopher or divine that would, with any 
glimmer of reasonable hope, pretend to touch or come 
near the subject would be a beHever in final restitution. 
As to this critic, a man, I dare say, of learning, and 
obviously, to a certain extent, of sense, he is about as 
ignorant, whoever he be, of himself aA he is of the 
subject, 

Feom Me. Cokdee to Me. Postee. 

XXXrV. Rev. Sie, — ^Whatever circumlocution I 
might think it politic or necessary to employ, were I 
writing to some persons, I am sure you would wish me 
to come, in honest terms, at once to the point of the un- 
pleasant business I have now to write about. I cannot 
print this article on Franklin, Literally, I daee kot.* 
It would certainly expose me to prosecution, and prose- 
cution for what, I must frankly confess, I do not coincide 
in as to the reasonings, or quite approve of as to the 
expressions. You will be just to my motives, and I do 
not fear therefore, whatever vexation this may give you, 
that I run any risk of offending you ; but I wish you to 
believe that I have looked at the papers again and again, 
since the editor returned them, to see what could be 
done. The retrenchments absolutely necesssary would 
be so considerable, that I must have your distinct per* 
mission to cut it up as I like, before I venture upon the 
experiment. The simple fact is, as I have stated in a few 

* The relations of the Goremment and the press were very different 
forty years ago from what they now are. 



JOHN FOSTER. 193 

words, that lam afraid to use it, and this argument is 
an absolute one. But if you will bear with me — ^what is 
the bearing of the whole article p Is it not an appeal to 
^*the people," to take into their own hands the remodel- 
IiQg of the constitution upon republican principles, 
d VAmirique ? In other words, an exhortation to revolt. 
Of course an armed revolt, for any other would be peril- 
ously iueffective. Now, admitting that this is good 
advice, ought the JSckctic to be committed as the adviser? 
Is no risk run (and if it be, a most thankless and useless 
one) in taking this means and this moment of offering it? 
Whom would you wish our readers to understand by the 
people ? Does not the term refer us at once to the mob? 
Kso, bad as the nobitLty is, it is better than the mobility; 
and I am of old Landaff^s opinion, better one tyrant than 
a hundred. As to the extracts &om Eranklin, they 
strike me as very weak and flippant. I may labour under 
prejudices against the American patriarch, but I confess 
I think you vastly over-appreciate him. His hatred of 
English institutions was indeed natural, and his misre- 
presentations pardonable, considering the pains which 
the ministry of the day took to make England despicable 
in the eyes of the Americans ; but I do not see why we 
should at this time of day adopt his opinions as fair and 
profound, and so forth, any more than those of that 
shrewd fellow-infidel, Thomas Paine. Tour own com^ 
ment on one of his remarks (as to the venality of the 
nation) exposes the witlessness of his sarcasm. And after 
all, is this a subject — ^I know we are at issue here — ^is this, 
I must still say, a subject for sarcasm ? You will cite 
the instance of Pascal and Voltaire as proofs of the 
effectiveness of such weapons, but Pascal and Voltaire 
attacked what they each deemed intellectual errors with 
intellectual weapons. In writing against corruption, 

o 



194 COBBESPONDENTS. 

despotism, etc. etc., such a style can have only the effect 
to inflame ; it can be of no use but as the pen should be 
the means of calling up the sword. Prom such a contest 
may the Divine mercy deliver us. The corruption of the 
state, mth all the attendant moral and political evils, 
awakens in my mind feeHngs of a very different character. 
I could devote — ^I will not boast of being ready to sacri- 
fice — ^my life to any rational and lawful means of com- 
bating the hydra, but I am too much of an enthuaiaBt, 
too honest a fanatic, to go otherwise than quite gravely, 
calmly, and religiously about it. Something is due, if 
the N. T. be an authority for our conduct, to rulers as 
such ; what that something is I should be glad to have 
defined without sophistry, but how indefinite soever maybe 
my ideas on the subject, I cannot give up the notion that 
that something ought to be recognised. As an English- 
man, I have some old-fSuhioned constitutional prejudioes 
too, which refuse to submit to the American politico- 
philoBOphy. The destruction of the strength of our 6Li 
aristocracy has, as it appears to me, removed a constitu- 
tional barrier to the influence of the Crown. I feel with 
unfeigned depth of concern the resurrection of Toryism ; 
but the way of resisting the tide you have taken I am 
sure is personally unsafe, and I do not think it would 
have any good effect, even could I resolve to ensure for 
the EcleoHo the honour of martyrdom. 

But to business. I have paid you double for the whole 
review of Chalmers, and wish I could afford to do more ; 
and, in a pecuniary way, I will make you any reasonable 
compensation for this destruction of your labour. If you 
will have the kindness to return the article with a carte 
blanehe, I will put in what I can, provided you have 
no objection to carry on the delineation of Pranklin's 
character so as to do justice to his brutal ignaraooe of 



JOHN FOSTER. 195 

leHgion. For this purpose I encloee jou fhe yolume 
just published. 

(Tbom Mb. Posteb.) 

Downend, WednoBcIaj. 

V. Mt peab Sib, — ^I do not know whether this will 
go to-morrow or not, nor is it of kdj consequence. This 
morning I shut up the lust sheet of " Ayton and Daniell" 
in such precipitation, as not to have time for a word. A 
nine o'clock post is a very inconyenient thing. This 
morning it had the effect of being considerably earlier, 
fox I saw, through the window, at a distance, the post- 
man going, and had a run for it along the king's high- 
road to oTcrtake him — ^when it proved he was not going, 
just then, for ^ood. But the half-hour was lost. . . . 

'Pbasklis. Untaught by all previous lessons, I 
really had not conscience or sense enough awake to 
make, previous to looking into your letter, the slightest 
suggestion to me ichf the whole of the article should be 
sent back. Amazing simplicity, you will think, but lite- 
rally so it was As to the general estimate of 

Eranklin, whom you pronounce that I *' vastly over- 
appreciate," I might fairly ask — How are you entitled to 
say this? Have you attentively read this " Correspond- 
ence," or any other work adapted to unfold him fully to 
view? It was on the "Correspondence," indeed, more 
than on any other works or documents (though aided 
by the recollection of a few of his practical essays), that 
the estimate made out in the article was formed ; aud it 
was formed with the greatest possible deliberation, vdth 
a special attention to evezy line and phrase, and a pro- 
tracted balancing of expressions, in many of the sen- 
tences, in order to bring them as nearly as I could to 
the right mark ; and I think it probable that btebt ex- 



196 COBEESPONDENTS. 

pression is just, both in matter and degree. As you say 
you read the thing, you might have perceived that I waa 
very careful to avoid any dashing extravagance. I did 
not talk of his intellectual character as including any- 
thing sublime, nor, though you write the word as if I 
had used it, ** profound." (I am persuaded I did not 
use it — I have not looked at the article.) I used no 
terms to imply any kind of intellectual loJUness or mag^ 
niflcence; but, on the contrary, at considerable length 
described it as a deficiency, and even inferiority, that his 
unvaried good^enae mode of intellectual action had the 
effect of reducing all subjects to one level ; reducing 
great ones, therefore, from their grandeur. In this good- 
sense mode I did, certainly, represent him as superlative, 
and with perfect truth. Excepting perhaps Dean Swift, 
I should doubt if we can name an equal, for the direct 
simplifying mode of penetrating a subject, and disposing 
of it. He is most admirable, too, in the power of ap- 
pl3ring principles, or general facts, to a specific practical 
purpose. Let any one but have occasion to read, as I 
had just been doing, his essay On Chimneys, for instance. 
I probably said, too, that he was sagacious of the charac* 
ters and purposes of men, of the probable consequences 
of measures, of the operation of laws and institutions, 
all which is abundantly proved in the " Correspondence ;" 
and so forth. 

As to the moral portion of the man, the estimate, I 
believe, is equally clear of any ethereal element. Not a 
word about elevated sentiment, heroic ardour, noble en- 
thusiasm, romantic generosity, martyr's or confessor's 
devotement; but a constant aim at tangible, pbiin 
utility. Now, I waa conscientiously anxious to do full 
justice to this sort of mental and moral human compo- 
ntioQ, for the very reason that it is far from beingHhai 



JOHN FOSTER. 197 

noJtich lam most prone to admire. It is the daring elation 
of thought, the splendid imagination, the poeidcal and 
eloquent strain — ^it is the glowing sentiment, the lofty 
enthusiasm, the energetic passion, the adventurous vir- 
tue, and everything of this moral order, that enchants 
me, even to the extent of disparaging in the estimate of 
feeling, even belovr the pitch of its just claims, the 
homely sort of plain sense-and-utility character. Aware 
of this, I took poms to he just to this signal sample of that 
character — ^yet delineating the character by no means in 
a way to carry any implication of valuing it more highly 
than, or so highly as, the loftier style of intellectual and 
moral being. There are, indeed, some expressions de- 
scriptive of his abhorrence of the war-and-ambition 
" heroics ;'* and there, certainly, I was in fdU sympathy 
with him, feeling an infinite detestation and contempt 
of that execrable delusion of this sort of grandeur, for 
which at this hour, aU aaround me, the community is 
paying the price in beggary, debasement^ and wretch- 
edness. 

As to the safety, or rather hazard, of publishing the 
political passages, you are necessarily to be the judge, 
without appeal. To me they appear but to approach, in 
a tame and restricted manner, the line to which the 
lEdmbv/rgh Beview advances boldly any day. As to 
their being an appeal to the people, what hut such ap- 
peal are all public representations of the corruptions of 
the government, by which it is necessarily shown that 
the people are oppressed with taxation, are deluded and 
stimulated to wars, and, on the whole, have their affairs 
managed with very little regard to their interests, and 
oflben to their collective opinion and wishes ? What are 
all representations of the necessity of political reform 
-but such an appeal P How, as to any intelligible human 



1 98 CORRESPONDENTS. 

meanB, are corrupt govemmentB to be practically checked, 
or institutionally reformed, but by a vigilant, examining, 
and suspicious superintendence by the national mind P 
How is this vigilant suspicion to be fully excited but by 
representations such as that supplied by the obstinate 
perseverance in the American war, of the miserable and 
dreadful consequences of national credulity, and confi- 
dence in the wisdom and virtue of a profligate govern- 
ment 

** Cobbett^s Address to the Mob,", or some such 
thing, is written in pencil, against one of the to-be erased 
paragraphs, I see. It is a delightful thing to a pro- 
fligate government, when good sort of people, pretending 
to more independence than their direct partisans can do, 
— ^when such, for instance, as write in the Eclectic 
Bevieifff and a large proportion of the Dissenters — are 
scared into silence about corruption, a mock-representa- 
tion in Parliament, pensions, and Court splendour 
amidst national poverty, etc., etc., etc., by such words aa 
Cohbett and Jacobinism. These governors see very well 
that so long as these good people dare not reprobate any- 
thing that Cobbett has reprobated, all will be smooth 
and quiet, it happening so luckily that if there be any 
political corruptions, they are just those things whidi 
said Cobbett dwells upon. 

I have alluded already to an apparent mark of era- 
sure across one paragraph. It is one that you make 
some reference to; a representation, in the simplest, 
plainest terms I coiild flnd to put it in, of the palpable 
good that would arise from a wider scale of election, and 
a shorter duration of parliament, which would render 
venality and corruption much less practicable, even 
though there were not a particle more virtue in the com- 
mnnity ; with an enforcement of the extreme desirable- 



. JOHN FOSTER. 199 

BJBfis of forming and correcting institutionB in such a 
way that by their yery structure they should counter- 
act corruption, instead of being so firamed as to be 
adapted to ayaH themselyes of it, and indefinitely aug- 
ment it. Now, if a representation Hke this may not 
comport with the loyalty of the Eclectic Beview, that 
humble production would do weU, methinks, to apply, 
without delay and in a direct manner, for the counte- 
nance and patronage of Mr. Yansittart and Co. And on 
this proceediog, it will be extremely proper, I allow, to 
erase also a passage to the effect of warning some of 
the good sort of men, co-operators and abettors of war- 
and-corruption statesmen, lest they should one day 
have the strange surprise (as I have no doubt they will) 
of findiag themselves in heU with those statesmen. On 
any other phin I should have thought it not at all amisff 
for a religious Eeview to give some hint of such a wam^ 
ing — some hint of admonition that the superstitious or 
tiie servile principle of acquiescing in and advocating the 
actual system of the government, out of deference to th& 
goyemment (U mchy will do nothing to save, in the last 
audit, men who haye had influence in society ftam 
standing directly aecowUahle for the nature of the tMngt 
fvhieh they abetted. 

You cannot away with half a page of extract, de- 
scriptive of the corrupt political state of England, as ta 
its representation especially. It is true that, £rom 
wretchedness of memory, and some defect of the due 
particularity of noting, as I read, the precise habitat of the 
most applicable passages, one or two of the paragraphs 
in. that cltister are not the very best in the volume for 
the purpose ; but one or two are excellent, as that which 
describes the difficulty the Honourable House had to 
avoid bursting into a harse-laugh at the graye £aice of 



200 COHRESPONDENTS. 

piTniwhing the Oxford people for some matter of election^* 
bribery ; and also a retort of Alderman Beckford's. But 
the innocents of the Ucleetie are to be too reHgiously reve- 
rent of that Honourable House to have the slightest per- 
ception, sweet babies, of aay farce or corruption there. 

You revert to the topic which (I ought certainly to 
tremble at my own temerity while I say it) always 
sounds to me with a grievous resemblance to ean^^-^ 
the impropriety and mischief of anything like sareium 
in exposing follies aud corruptions. It is not clear 
whether in the present instance the inculpation is meant 
against me as well as Dr. Franklin : if it be, its intn^ 
duction here would only show (what one has observed in 
scores of instances) that when persons get some favourite 
and smgular notion, it must and will be coming out, 
whether the occasion be one to which it is applicable or 
not; for, as fjGff as I recollect, there is a prevailing 
gravity, and very little attempt at any sort of biting, in 
the passages excepted against in the article. As to the 
notion or principle itself, I am quite of the old and 
orthodox &ith, that satire and sarcasm are legitimate, and 
may be valuable expedients in aid of truth, justice, and 
reformation. I see that inspired Prophets thought so; 
that Luther and many of his co-operators thought so ; 
that some of the zealous Puritans thought so, Alsop, 
and several others ; I may include Milton under the de« 
nomination; that Cervantes restored all Europe to its 
senses by this very expedient ; that,, in short, it has been 
a powerful co-agent in almost all grand improvements in 
society ; while of course it is capable (as argument and 
eloquence also are) of being made the instrument of 
great mischief. 

You seem half aware that you are unlucky in «Mning 
Foieidf an attempt being made to neutralize the effect 



JOHN FOSTER. 201 

of that name by an obserYation which I am not certain I 
understand : — ^' he attacked what he deemed intellectual 
errors with intellectual weapons." The essence of sar- 
casm (of such as is of any force) is intellectual — ^it is a 
mode of showing the absurdity or incongruity of things 
in a pointed, sudden, concentrated manner ; which same 
absurdity r&a9(m^y might equally show by. a. laborious 
process, and often [with] a less couTincing effect. But 
as to Pascal, he showered his €tqua foriis indiscrimi« 
nately on everything he wrote agamst in the '* Provincial 
Letters," — ^the intellectual errors, the pride, the hypo- 
crisy, the wicked policy, and the altogether, of Jesuit* 
ism* 

I cannot mean that this should be the cAi^ expedient 
for promoting a good cause, but that it is proved to 
have great sanction and great effect as one of the means. 
For brief and transitory works like reviews, it has this 
circumstance of fitness, that it can be employed within a 
very short spetce^ where there is absolutely no room for 
formal statements and regular dissertations. As to its 
effect (in politics) being " to vnflame^'^ verily, the people 
of England have vastly needed something to inflame 
them, I think, or in any way to stimulate their attention 
to the detestable system under, which they have reve- 
rently suffered themselves to be exhausted and cor- 
rupted during the greater part of this vile reign. They 
have shown themselves tmcombustible enough with a 
vengeance. And in addition to all the other considera- 
tions, all the world knows how dull is mere 'preaching oi^ 
any subject. You may fag at a mere cold discussion as 
long as you please, and with as much of ponderous 
moralization as you please, and have your labour for your 
reward, unless you have a miraculous talent of throwing 
into the composition, mthont the aid of satire, a good 



202 CORRESPOyDENTS. 

portion of somctliiiig much more iiiBpiritiiig tnd rtmiii- 
host than a gnve prosing about right and wrong. 

But I will rather throw this sheet in the ^le thatk 
spend any more minutes on any of these matters 

[18170 

YI Nothing was further from m j intentions 

than this prolixity on the first part of the suhjeet, 
the immensity of creation ;* but now that I hare been 
doomed and betrayed to this prolixity, I am willing to 
find out that there is hardly a more glaring defect in the 
religion of many good people, than the atomic narrow- 
ness of its field of view, and the almost total exclusion of 
those amazing scenes and sublimities which might all be 
available to religion, and which it becomes even a duty 
to take into that connection. Think how poor, how 
wretchedly mean and contracted, is the idea of thei>i9Mit^ 
in fiur the greatest number of minds! — and let it be 
acknowledged that, do what we will about the ideas of 
Spirit, we do, after all, depend on some ideas of material 
magnitude for a really enlarged conception of the Divine 
Being Himself. We cannot help ourselves. So if Dr. 
C, and, at humble distance, his reviewers, shall contri- 
bute to assist their readers, by splendid and vast ideas of 
the scene of the Creator's presence and agency, to 
magnify those more abstracted forms of thought in which 
they apprehend that great Being Himself, it will have 
been a very direct service to religion, however indirectly, 
at first view, the stars may seem to belong to religion. 

.... I am more than apprehensive that in the article 
about it that has gone from this den, it will appear that 
the commentator got colder, just progressively and pro* 
portionably as his author got warmer. The kind of 

* In the review of Dr. Chalmers's ** Astronomical Disoonrses.** 



JOHN FOSTES. 203 

thinking required and the very strong sense of the Dr/s 
extravagance of theory^ and the badness, in some respects, 
of his eloquence, were of most Mgorific influence on mj 
imagination. 

I wonder much what icill be about the level to which 
the fame of thij9 performance will subside in a few years. 
I cannot even conjecture. There can, however, be no 
doubt that it will have had a very considerable perma- 
nent effect. It will have inAised into the habits of thought 
of many minds, not at all acquainted with what had 
before been written on the subject, a notion, a haunting 
idea of greatness, and a sentiment of which they can 
never be quite exorcised. More than was previously 
felt, the universe will be recognised as claiming to be 
something in the means of forming an idea of the 
Almighly Creator — ^will be something therefore in the 
general theory of religion. 

Thumday [July, 1817]. 

VII. Mt deab Sib, — ^As I can avail myself of privilege 
so far forth as the twopenny post, I may as well despatch 
a line or two, and congratulate you on the consent of Mrs. 
G. to plunge again, for your sake, into the smoke and 
the mephitics of St. Paul's Churchyard. I am not, 
however, without some apprehensions that this long rural 
absentation may prove to have been a disastrous thing. 
My surmise is founded simply on your own acknow- 
ledgment, that the lady's consent to return imposes on 
you a distinct super-additional obligation to be an extba 
good husband. Whereas, in fieud;, you will be just the 
same sort of husband that you were before, and not an 
atom better, excepting for a very short time ; and so you 
will not have paid the lair compensation for this sacr^ee 
of "sylvan" luxury; and so you will incur-neither re- 
proaches, or a great weight of unrepaid ohligation for their 



204 CORRESPONDENTS. 

being forborne. But let me see : this was really my im- 
pression of what you had said in jour letter ; but on 
turning to it, I find I am quite out, for that you are 
asserting yourself to be, honajlde, such a super-excellent 
husband that there is no merit or generosity in this 
sacrifice. I am very glad if this be true. I hope it is, 
but I have not heard the right deponent. 

As to the young feUow, as he is to be one of the things 
for the rough wear and tear service of the world, the 
sooner in life his likings and preferences are accustomed 
to be crossed the better. • . . 

Downend, Noyember 18 [1819]. 

VIII. My deab Sib, — ^The very paper may suffice fo 
indicate my being in the midst of neater adjustments' 
than the accustomed. But I am not yet on my own pre* 
mises in any sense of the word. A number more days at 
Dr. Cox's must precede the appointed occupancy, where 
matters are making ready with what expedition they can. 
The fine books, however, have, as yet, no more business 
to venture out of their wooden cases than the scarlet 
butterflies have to come out with their opened beauties 
at this dreary season. Indeed, for amf sort of books 
there is not yet a single shelf put in place. As in the 
former place, though not quite in the same degree, the 
quarters for their reception and array are greatly too much 
of the nature of fnaJee-ahifty in point of dimensions. I 
should have been glad of a good roomy apartment for them, 
and for space and licence for studious or musing trampling 
backward and forward — b, habit in which I am inveterate, 
and which is not the worst of habits, though a somewhat 
tiresome one. But whatever other deficiency there may 
be about the destined house, there is nothing approaching 
to deficiency in the articles of rent and taxes, which will 
triple or quadruple the rate of the Cotswold mansion. 



JOHN fOSTEK. 205 

lEvery new residence to wbicb I have ever yet gone 
(with perhaps one exception, in SomersetBhire) I have 
hated, in the most literal sense of the word, and that not 
from any partiality acquired for the previous residence, 
locally considered. Such could not fail to be the case 
now, the more so from the more advanced period of life, 
and the consequent diminution of anything like accommo« 
dating flexibility and sanguine expectation. I take the 
position with a concentration of dislikes — a dislike of 
making a local transit at all, a dislike of this district, a 
dislike of the house, a dislike, especially, of the part of it 
which I am more immediately to occupy, a dislike of the 
imposed necessity of meeting the recurring public ser* 
vices as regular and unavoidable ; and how many more of 
them come into this convergence there would be no end 
of telling. 

The belief on which I have acted in the concern 
(without, however, anything in the least degree sanguine 
in that either) still continues, that the position may have 
somewhat more excitement, and somewhat more utility, 
I do not think that on the whole I shall repent the 
change, at the same tube that there is gratification in 
the idea that I am not precluded from changing again. 
Whether the vicinity of a city (at the distance of four 
miles only) will bring much of that sort of advantage 
which in a very vague way I was willing to anticipate, is 
yet to be seen ; at the same time, I cannot help being 
well aware that I shall have extremely little disposition 
to frequent city society ; that, consequently, in whatever 
degree I do go into such society, it will be in the way of 
self-denial ; that the distance of even four miles forms a 
very advantageous protection against the compulsory 
necessity of such self-denial ; that, therefore, the strong 
probability is, that such self-denial will be very little 



206 COBKESPONDENTS. 

exercifled, and tliat I Bball have infinitely slight benefit 
of the vicinity of a great town, beyond an occasional 
walk or ride about its environs, and perhaps a look now 
and then into its cathedral, or its principal library, of 
which, however, I have several times, of late years, a 
little inspected the finest articles (not so fine, by the 
way, as my own plunder), and can have no interest about 
the great mass of inferior ones. As to exhibitions of 
wonders of nature or art, there is nothing in the grand 
metropolitan style. I am little likely to fall into much 
intercourse with professional brethren, if Non-con. preach- 
ing may be called a profession. They are chiefly the same 
persons, several of them much respected ones, especially 
Dr. Syland, that were in. their present situations when 
J, so many years since, was also several years in tkk 
situation, and when I had very little more acquaintance 
with them than I have had during the subsequent total 
disconnection and insuperable distance. The one of them 
with whom I should have been most likely to be on social 
terms (Page) is gone, or as good as gone. 

An inexpressible coldness and unexcitability of 
nature, accompanied by a certain pessimism of opinions 
and estimates, have placed me in such a moral situation, 
that I fear I have little to hope, after all, firom anything 
in a local one. Nothing but an augmentation of re%to» 
in the mind can counterwork this fatal repression ; and, 
certainly, I cannot have dreamed that that augmentation 
should accrue firom any change of external situation; nor 
can it be from any such cause that I earnestly hope that 
grand advantage and felicity will be realized. 

Downend, Monday Moraiiig. 
[December, 1819.] 

IX. Mt nsAS SiB,^ — ^I recollect you have once or 



JOHN FOSTER. 207 

twice, on very fierce and furious occasions, professed to 
congratulate yourself on being beyond arm's reach, in 
the physical sense. I was going to take to myself 
this same felicitation, but recollect to have heard that 
you are not so strong in the arm as in the head. By 
to-morrow's post I shall send what may add a couple of 
printed pages to the trivial scrap contained iu this half- 
sheet. But how come aU my good intentions and pledges 
to this ? Not for want of their sincerity, but this miser- 
able " Substance of a Discourse" job, again. The Eclectic 
obligation has haunted me every day like an evil spirit.. 
I have felt it would be a much easier task than the one 
I was about ; but when on each, and still the next, and 
the next, of these dark days, I seemed getting into a 
decent sentence or two of the more responsible thing, 
it seemed to me mch a point gained, that those sentences 
should not he to he made to-morrow* 



CHAPTEB V. 

COnrTBT LIT2 AlTD LITEBABT LABOIHUI. 

Ths commenoement of the present cbupter, in wbich 
our narrative tuma "to fresh woods and pastures new/* 
seems the appropriate phice for introducing the following 
sketch, from the pen of one of Mr. Condor's earliest 
friends and fellow-labourers in the domain of theological 
literature,* which possesses the value and interest of 
a contemporarj portrait, by a hand of acknowledged 
power: — 

' It was at a very early age that Josiah Conder, by 
the tacit but undisputed suffrages of the circle in which 
he moved, was allowed to occupy the place of a sort of 
presidentship among them. It was he who gave decisions 
in matters of taste and criticism ; it was he who suggested 
and carried forward any literary project ; he was looked 
to also as the source of the most authentic information, 
and the latest intelligence concerning books and authors; 
and he became a centre of the animated correspondence 
which gave life to the friendships that flourished around 
him. 

' The qualifications which fitted him for holding such 
a position among those who, most of them, were his 
seniors, were — the graceful vivacity and attractiveness of 
his manners, his intellectual tastes, his literary pro> 
ficiency, and acquaiutedness with books, the beauty and 

• Imm Taylor, Eaq. 



A CONTEMPORARY PORTRAIT. 209 

feeling of his poetical oompoaitions, and the acknow- 
ledged correctness of his judgment in questions of taste. 
Beside these intrinsic merits, Josiah Gender's position- 
so near to the heart of the book-selling, book-buying, and 
publishing world — gave him, in relation* to his Mends, 
and especially to his provincial friends, a very great 
advantage. He, among them, was the first to learn 
whatever was known, or whispered, or surmised, in the 
great literary commonwealth. It was to him that the 
inquiry was directed as to any rumoured novelty in the 
literary heavens, and from his eagerly-perused letters 
were gathered those crumbs of intellectual sustenance 
upon which the more remote of his correspondents were 
to live on &om month to month. As bookseller, pub- 
lisher, poet, man of taste, and as a hearer of learned and 
unlearned gossip, his correspondents thought themselves 
always the favoured parties in receiving his well-filled 
sheets. 

' The fruit of the friendships of which Josiah Conder 
was the centre, appeared in a volume comprising the 
poetic contributions of the more literary or gifbed mem- 
bers of this circle of friends. This book, entitled " The 
Associate Minstrels," appeared in 1810, and was reprinted 
in 1812. Gender's pieces in this collection may be taken 
as a fair sample of the range and of the characteristics 
of his poetic vein ; they exhibit an elegant viv^acity, and 
correctness of feeling, the most appropriate sphere of 
which is presented by the incidents and the attachments 
of intellectual friendship. It was at a later period of 
his course, and after that time when the trying experi- 
ences of real life had given greater depth to his religious 
sentiments, that his hymns, many of which have taken 
a permanent place in our devotional literature, appeared, 
and which may be held to entitle him to an honourable 

p 



210 A SKETCH. 

place in tbe company which is graced by the names of 
C. Wesley, Cowper, Montgomery, and others not less 
esteemed by the devout. 

' But to revert for a moment to an earlier time : that 
sort of readily admitted superiority, as the centre of a 
circle of intellectual friends, male and female, which con- 
tinued to be conceded to him during a course of years, 
seemed to be a good preparation for the position he after- 
wards occupied as editor of a review. Some of those 
who had long been> his correspondents on terms of a 
willing deference to his critical judgment, thenceforward 
became his coadjutors as stated writers in the JEelectic 
Beview, Toward these his control hi^ become the usage 
of years ; and it was nearly in the same mood of graceful 
authority, wholly exempt from arrogance or dogmatism 
on the one side, and from assentation on the other, that 
he entered upon his editorial functions, when his contri- 
buting friends were, some of them, writers possessed of 
an established literary repute. It is believed that men 
and writers such as Eobert Hall and John Foster, 
Olinthus Gregory, and others, found their relationships 
with the youthful editor to be agreeable and easy, 
although a proper and needful tone of final determina- 
tion, as master of the company, was maintained by him. 

' As is the usual, or perhaps the universal, custom in 
such cases, the new editor of the Eeview himself wrote 
largely for it ; and he took under his care those peculiar 
subjects, upon a discreet handling of which the well- 
being and security of the work depended. The Eclectic 
Review^ commenced on a supposition which speedily 
proved itself to be unreal and impracticable, still made 
profession, and it did so sincerely, of a substantial neu- 
trality on subjects controverted among (to take up the un- 
desirable phrase) the several " Evangelical communions.** 



LITERARY POSITION. 211 

To this extent the impartial bearing of the editor was, 
in the main, well sustained through a course of years ; 
and it was so in fact until the eve of that stormy era 
during the passage of which, organic changes in the poli- 
tical system spread a sympathetic violence, or an extreme 
vehemence, through the fields of religious and ecclesias- 
tical controversy. From that time forward, or, let us 
say, from about the year '29, and until the time of his 
relinquishment of his office as editor, Josiah Condei^ 
moved into the place which he thenceforward occupied 
as champion of Dissenting interests and principles in the 
columns of the Patriot, 

'Throughout the earlier and more tranquil period 
already specified, Mr. Conder's oton mvnd, his proper 
intellectual endowments, were fairly developed, as well 
in the general management of the Eeview, as in various 
articles of which he was the writer. It was the sym- 
metry and equipoise of the faculties which distinguished 
him, rather than the depth or power of any one of them. 
He wrote competently and well upon philosophical ques- 
tions — ^moral, intellectual, or political; but he neither 
professed to be the philosopher, nor did he win a reputa* 
tion as such. He wrote ably as layma/n upon professional 
subjects — ^biblical, theological, metaphysical, ecclesiasti- 
cal — ^and displayed the freedom, and the facility, and the 
irresponsibility which usually characterise lay inter- 
ferences with matters that are jealously guarded by 
authorised functionaries. It was thus that he gave a popu- 
lar and lucid aspect to what is often made to be abstruse 
or shrouded in the fog of conventional grandiloquence. 

* As to most men of marked intelligence, that which 
in moments of depression they are prone to say or think 
concerning themselves, may be assumed as substantiaUy 
true, namely, that under conditions of less urgency and 



212 COUNTRY LIFE. 

difficulty, they might, and probably would, have taken a 
higher place than in fact they have been able to win for 
themselves in the temple of fame. Whether it would 
actually have been so, no one can affirm with certainty, 
either as to himself or his friend. In the instance now 
in view, it is, however, quite safe to affirm that, whatever 
it may be which favourable and auspicious circumstances 
have done for some men, any such golden advantage 
would have found in Josiah Conder the pre-requisites of 
a vigorous understanding, a bright imaginative sensi- 
bility, a depth and tenderness of feeling ; and these gifts, 
combined with great assiduity and a constitutional love 
of method and order, apart from which the most brilliant 
endowments so often £eu1 of their purpose.' 

The relinquishment of business, the retreat into the 
pure air and quiet of the country, and the adoption of 
literature as a profession, constituted that turn in the 
high-road of life which opened the very career for which 
Ddj. Conder's tastes, talents, education, and previous ex- 
perience appear most to have fitted him. Probably, amidst 
all the cares, vexations, and disappointments, neither few 
nor small, which the piirsuit of literature brought with 
it in after years, he never repented the course he had 
adopted. Nowhere could his mind have been more in 
its element, except in the work of the Christian ministry, 
for which he had special endowments, and for which that 
regretfiil consciousness which he expressed of a deficiency 
in high-wrought spiritual feeling is no proof of his un- 
fitness, but the contrary. But the Master had different 
work for his servant to do ; and the path was so plainly 
marked out by God's providence, that he could never 
reproach himself with not having consecrated his talents 
and life to the sacred calling. He commenced, however, 



PREACHING. 213 

at St. Alban's the practice of preaching in the villages, 
which he continued, with more or less firequency, during 
his residence in the country ; occasionally preaching also 
(in after years) in larger places of worship. He sted- 
fastly observed two rules ; one of which was, not to go 
unsent, but to labour in union with the church of which 
for the time being, he was a member, and under the 
sanction of the pastor ; the other, to make his services 
strictly gratuitous. In the villages they were necessarily 
so; but when invited to occupy the pulpits of stated 
minister^, he invariably refased any recompense, con- 
sidering that by taking it he would have been doing in- 
justice to those who have devoted themselves to the 
ministry as* their calling. His preaching was charac- 
terized by great clearness, method, fulness of Scriptural 
illustration, and a simple, practical, common-sense ex- 
position of doctrines. ^ It was rather exegetical than 
rhetorical. His views of doctrine, it is almost superflu- 
ous to say, harmonized with what is generally under- 
stood by " moderate Galvanism ;" but he avoided much 
use of technical language ; he valued Calvin more as an 
expositor than as a systematic theologian ; and both his 
preaching and his theology bore the strong impress of 
independent, familiar, and searching study of the Bible. 

The new home was as complete a contrast to St. Paul's 
Churchyard as could be desired. It was not in the town 
of St. Alban's, but in the little village of St. Michael's ; 
a pretty cottage residence, the garden front of which 
looks across a lawn and shrubbery into the open country, 
while but a few steps lead from the garden gate into the 
quiet churchyard of the rustic little old church, in which 
is the monument of Lord Bacon. Close at hand is Q-or- 
hambury, the family seat of the Earls of Verulam. Over 
the peaceful landscape the genius of antiquity seems to 



214 COUNTRY LIFE. 

look down from the stately tower of that proud old 
abbey, whose first stones were laid when the seven Saxon 
kingdoms of Britain had not yet been brought under one 
sceptre, and when the retirement of the Eomans was an 
event not more remote than the accession of the house 
of Tudor is from our own times. 

A fragment found among Mr. Gender's papers deli- 
neates, in its opening pages, with an energy evidently 
borrowed &om personal experience, the intense desire 
which he had long felt to make his escape from London. 
The MS. is an unfinished tale, entitled '^ HmU on the 
Choice of a Residence : addressed to those who may Uce 
where they choose, and who ha/oe to choose where to Uve ; 
showing that the country is the worst place in the, world 
to live in, except London" Chapter the first commences 
as follows : — 

* When first I turned my back on the metropolis, and 
set off on my exploratory excursions in search of a resi- 
dence, I felt the happiest man in the world. Like Adam, 

'* The world was all before me where to choose 
My place of rest." 

But, unlike Adam, I left not paradise behind. Beader, 
gentle reader, did you ever pass the dog-days iu London P 
Were you ever doomed to exist in that vast brick laby- 
rinth through the long, dull, suffocating days of August, 
when 

'^ Nature proclaims one common lot 
For all conditions— 5tf ye hot T* 

Have you ever posted your way through its streets 
at eventide, amid the crowd of gasping citizens pressing 
towards the suburban outlets, just as you may have seen 
turtles clambering over each other in a tub, to catch a 
gulp of air P And have you seen, with a throb of envy, the 



ESCAPE FROM THE CITY. 215 

loaded stages bearing away their evening freights ? At 
such a moment, the oblique rays of the western sun 
flaring fiill in your face, has the din of a postman's beU, 
a procession of drays, or a cart laden with bars of iron, 
conspired, with the general whirl and hum of men, to 
work you- up well-nigh to frenzy ? Making your escape 
from the rapids of the main street into some tranquil 
back-water, have you >found yourself checked by clouds 
of black dust, upborne on eddies of hot vapour, or the 
attar of gas, or the steam of some subterranean refectory ? 
You have at length gained, perhaps, the blissful expanse 
of a square, and have perused, in vapid mood, one by one, 
the deserted mansions from which peered forth the vacant 
faces of imprisoned servants, while here and there a 
gayer group afforded you a peep of low life above stairs ; 
and you have wandered on till you found yourself an 
object of attraction to some daughter of Hecate, or of 
suspicion to the patrole, and have been glad to plunge 
again into the privacy of the ever-flowing crowd. If, then, 
jaded, disgusted, fevered, you have looked up at the blue ' 
sky, through which a few pale stars were making an 
effort to shine down on the strange scene below, has not 
your heart ached to think on what breezy fields and quiet 
streams, and cheerful village landscapes, the soft light of 
evening was sleeping ? Then, then-you have felt all the 
Emphasis of the poet's sentiment — 

" God made the country^ and man made the town." 

* O London ! thou immense catacomb of the living, 
thou spacioils press-yard of incarcerated thousands, thou 
overgrown abomination, thou hideous wen upon the 
face of society, greedy aU-absorbing excrescence — ^thou 
vast gasometer, thou atmosphere of pollution, feculent 
hot-bed of vice, still of iniquities, thou Babel, thou 



216 COUNTRY LIFE. 

Charybdis, thou Lmhiia patrwm- of the moral world, 

sarcophagous, anthropophagous monster — leviathan of 

cities ! — hj what adequate symbol shall I designate thee, 

or into what terms compress the energy of my hatred P 

Oh that to-morrow I might leave thee for ever ! Away, 

away — east, west, north, or south, anywhere — so that I 

might but get loose from thy voluminous coils, thy 

deadly embrace; and leave far behind thy horrid din 

and palpable atmosphere, thy filmy sunbeams and coal- 

*gas odours, thy towering parallels of brick and strips 

and sections of sky, thy infinite variety of nuisances^ 

moral and physical, thy gin-shops innumerable, thy 

swarming sharpers, beggars, black-legs, courtesans, dan- 

dies, radicals — all Colquhoun's thirty thousand children 

of necessity and birds of prey — and hide me in the green 

lap of Nature from such a world ! 

' Oft and again have I thus vented the bitterness of 
my feelings, beating myself against the wires of my cage 
in the vain attempt to spread my wings. But when 
morning has returned, with its calm and commonplace 
look of business, and brought back the cheerful bustle of 
daylight, and restored the salutary equilibrium of the 
physical and moral being, taming down the imagination 
into due subordination to the animal system, London 
has again-— especially if it rained — ^been endurable. Yet 
still I nursed and cherished a settled feeling of sullen 
enmity against my Titanic oppressor, and waited but for 
the first favourable moment to break my yoke. The 
auspicious moment at length arrived. My prison doors 
were thrown open, and I found myself, with a moderate 
independency, at large and at liberty to choose my own 
longitude and latitude. To leave London was a settled 
point ; the '' whither" was a question which I had an- 
ticipated no possible difficulty in determining. I had an 



ST. alban's. 217 

indefinite, intense longing after scenes that conld not 
be localized, the essential charm of which consisted 'in 
the negation of all that breathed of the town. A con- 
geries of poetical abstractions, indistinct recollections, 
sentimental projects, and romantic calculations, occu- 
pied my fancy ; and I had nothing to do but to realize 
them. My will, released from the tyranny of over-ruling 
motives, was precisely in that delightftil condition of 
equilibrium which some metaphysicians will have to be 
the perfection of moral freedom. I not only might, in 
this respect, do what I chose, but I had to choose what 
to do. This is a most important psychological distinc- 
tion, upon which I at present forbear to enlarge, as it 
will receive illustration from the sequel. Like other 
envied prerogatives, it sometimes proves a splendid in- 
convenience ; and it might perhaps be made to appear 
that an alternative is quite as much liberty as the mind 
can safely be trusted with ; that even to be beguiled of 
one's choice by a mild necessity, is preferable to a state 
of sovereign indetermination ; and that by much the 
easiest and pleasantest mode of willing is — ^to consent.' 

The foregoing paragraphs were not written until Wb 
or three years afterwards, when enlarged experience had 
illustrated the pleasures and disappointments of house- 
hunting in the country ; the opening scenes of the tale 
being laid in the locality of a subsequent sojourn. Mr. 
Conder's residence at St. Alban's lasted only two years. 
The first year was shadowed by two heavy trials. One 
of these was the death of Mr. Gender's brother-in-law (a 
man distinguished equally for talent in his profession, and 
for eminent piety), which took place in July. The other 
was a fall from his horse in the autumn, which laid him 
aside for some time. It was when suffering from this 



218 COUNTRY LIFE. 

accident that he composed the hymn numbered 690 in 
the Congregational Hymn-book, and commencing — 

' O Thou God, who hearest prayer 
Every hour and everywhere ! 
Listen to my feeble breath 
Now I touch the gates of death. 
For his sake whose blood I plead. 
Hear me in the hour of need.' 



To THE Eev. H. March. 

St. Alban*s, February 15, 1820. 

XXXV I am very sorry we could not meet 

when you passed through town. Whenever we do meet, 
however, whatever lapse of time may have intervened, we 
shall find that we can take up the thread just where it 
was broken off. Friendship is endangered only by a 
change of character in one of the parties. Our fiiend- 
ship is exposed to no hazard, I believe, from this quarter ; 
and though I wish not to repeat the experiment, how 
long it can endure a suspension of intercourse without 
suffering any degree of diminished action, I have no 
doubt that its resuscitation would at any time be effected 
with ease, within half an hour of our meeting, even if it 
should have exhibited all the signs of suspended anima* 

tion You and Isaac Taylor are two individuals 

whom we have particularly pleased ourselves with intro- 
ducing here by anticipation What with the wind- 
ing up of my affairs, joumeyings, moving, the Eclectic 
monthly, and some literary jobs of the nature of task- 
work, I have been as incessantly busy since Midsummer 
as at any period before ; and this is the reason why you 
and other friends have had to reproach me for my seem- 
ing neglect. All the autumn we were at Hastings, for 



ST. alban's. ^ 219 

the benefit of the sea-air and bathing, which were pre- 
scribed for Mrs. Conder. I say we, though I had one 
foot in London all the time, and generally passed a third 
of every month in town. When we broke up our estab- 
lishment at St. Paul's, we had not the slightest idea in 
what locality we should ultimately set up our tabernacle ; 
but my sister's marriage to one of the best of men — my 
good brother Rogers, as I love to call him — decided ua 
to fix upon St. Alban's as our residence. Mr. Brown, 
our pastor, is everything we could wish, both as a 
preacher and as a man. Need I say how material a 
circumstance it always was esteemed by us, in planning 
a future settlement, to have the benefit of a faithful and 
efficient ministry? But we could scarcely anticipate 

being so completely satisfied This has been a 

seasoning winter, and we have planted ourselves, as if in 
defiance, in the very teeth of the north-east. But we 
have now the pleasure of watching the first approach of 
spring. Oh how much, my dear friend, have I to be 
thankful for ! A great lo«id, which was pressing me down 
to the dust, has been removed. I have only anxieties 
enough left to form a needful alloy. My health is greatly 
improved, and by the help of Q-od I hope to maintain the 
advantage. But the great thing is, a closer walk with 
Gk>d. Think of me and mine, dear March, in your best 
and happiest moments. Of none of my friends do T 
think with so much pleasure as of those who are engaged 
in the work to which you have devoted yourself. 

Among a few private memoranda of this year occur 
the following : — 

Oh to be emptied of self, the source of all evil ; to 
be more careless of happiness, bent on glorifying G^od, 
and leaving Him to provide ; desiring more to serve Him 



220 COUNTRY LIFE. 

than to enjoy Him ; more solicitous to do his will than 
to be saved ! Oh, how many fears would this love cast 
out, since there is no fear but his will shall be done, 
and those who are found desiring this shall never be 
frustrated in their aim. 

March 5. — Cause me to know that Thou art the God 
that heareth prayer with regard to mj spiritual wants, 
as Thou hast with regard to my temporal wants. Oh 
that I might but seek the infinitely higher blessings with 
the same faith, earnestness, importunity that I have 
prayed for providential mercies, and then it would be so. 
When shall I realize all I know, and taste and feel all I 
believe P 

June 25. — ^Betumed in peace and safety to my dear 
home. Two things have been forcibly impressed upon me 
by what has passed at Leamington : the high importance 
of striet cofmstency, the all-desirableness of high spi/rikh 
ality; these together make living Christianity. As to 
the first, Mr. Bromilly's sermon, " Be not partaker qf 
other merCs sms; keep thyself pure,'^ was most applicable 
as a reproof of the false shame, which is a virtual parti- 
cipation in the guilt we suffer to pass uncensured. 
Strictness may make you disagreeable ; inconsistency, 
contemptible. And the worldly are hawk-eyed to detect 
it. ... As to the last, my good brother's heavenly 
frame of mind was a lesson, the benefit of which I trust 
not to lose. This is the secret of happiness. 

August, 1820. 
XXXVI. . . . The greater part of Jime I spent 
with my invaluable brother at Leamington — ^an excursion 
I now look back upon with peculiar pleasure, as it 
afforded me an opportunity of observing 'more closely 
than I could have done under any other circumstanceSi 



LESSONS AND TRIALS. 221 



f 



during the tkree weeks we were constantly together 
there, the fervent piety, the spirituality, the entire con- 
sistency, jof one of the best of men. I consider it a high 
privilege to have known him, and I hope that I have not 
known him altogether in vain. . . . His sufferings 
were extreme, so as not to allow of that iateroourse in 
his last moments which is most delightful ia the restro- 
spect. But his faith was firm. ^' I have not a gleam of 
hope," he said to me, " but what comes &om the blood of 
Christ." His letters to my sister during the six weeks 
he was absent from home, are written in the very spirit 
of a Christian just about to be made perfect, ripe for 
immortaUty. 

At the close of October occurs the following entry : — 
This has been a month of trials and temptations, bodily 
illness, disappointments, and vexations ; anxieties about 
our house, and much dejection, impatience, and distrust. 
God blot out in mercy the sinfiil infirmities his eye alone 
has witnessed! At times, the idea that I had done 
wrong to trust Him presented itself. Never has my 
mind seemed to lose so much of its anchor. And this is 
chiefly distressing, to find how such things affect my 
mind, instead of softening it, and driving me nearer to 
God. • Oh save me from being the worse for my suffer- 
ings and cares ! Save me from this unchildlike sullen- 
ness,in which my sins and my mercies are alike forgotten 
in anxiety about the fiiture ! Oh iorpatienoe and strength 
to wait ! 

January 1, 1821. 
XXXVII. This is the first time my pen has traced 
the mystic signs of a new year — 1821 ! How strange 
they look tUl the eye ha& become ^familiarised to the 



222 COUNTRT LIFE. 

t 
change, and how full of latent meaning ! How the mind 

runs out into speculation on the possibilities to which 

these figures will be an historic date ! St. Michael's bells 

are very busy, giving the new year joy, I suppose, on its 

accession ; but bells can never be so merry but that an 

imder-tone of pathos is still heard amid the peal. Now 

they have just left off, and the Abbey bells at a distance 

are taking up the strain. I could listen to them till 

they made me sad. They are Time's psalmody. What 

words shall we set to them ? The best I can think of is 

that sentiment of Dr. Watts's — 

'* Yet would I not be much concerned, 
Nor vainly long to see 
The volume of his deep decreeS) 
What lines are writ for me." 

Tou know what follows. 

Among the prominent mercies of the past year, my 
fall claims certainly to be recorded as a kind interposi- 
tion of Divine Providence. I had be^i passing the night 
at Mr. Easthope's, at Finchley, and was returning on 
horseback, in company with him and the Eev. Mr. 
Poster in a chaise. The horse ran away with me, 
more out of spirit than mischief, and I either fell or was 
thrown, but the fall was not severe. I soon recovered 
my recollection, and was brought back to Finchley, 
where I remained for three weeks. There was neither 
fracture nor contusion, but the wounds were ragged, and 
would not heal with the first intention ; and the irrita- 
bility of the stomach which the shake produced, kept 
them open for a long time. Had there been more serious 
local injury, it is very questionable how far my constitu- 
tion would have rallied, as I was evidently not in health 
when it happened. But I have quite got over it now^ 



WHAT TO LIVE FOR. 223 

I wish I could retain more impressively the lesson which 
it read me on the mercy of Gtod in sparing my life. It is 
a great mercy to be alive, when there is so much that it 
behoves us to be and do before the summons comes. I 
know that if I live until I am seventy I shall have no 
other ground for trust, no other plea than that upon 
which now aU my hope is built — ^the blood of the Q-reat 
Sacrifice. But there are many, many things which the 
husband and the father may, I hope, lawfully wish to 
live for, besides what ought to be the supreme reason — 
to do something for the glory of G-od before he goe^ 
home. 

I am truly rejoiced to hear of your comfortable situ- 
ation and .animating prospects. Tour brother must in- 
deed be a staff to you. Do you employ him as your 
curate in the villages, or do you not encourage lay 
brethren in speaking to the people ? Lay preaching is a 
subject which demands to be placed in a proper light. 
I go once a month (in turn with some other fiends) to 
a village three miles off, where about forty or fifty poor 
people come together in the evening from the farm 
houses roimd. They seem to hear with great attention. 
This is, on my part, rather an experiment ; but I act. 
under a very strong feeling that it is a general duty. 

I shall be very glad to be introduced to Mr. P— ^ — . 
A pious clergyman in this part of the coimtry is indeed 
a rara ams. We have seven clergymen in St. Alban's, 
and several more in the neighbourhood, not one of whom, 
approaches to evangelical. Did you mention my name 

to Mr. P ? Knot, the author of " Protestant Non* 

conformity" will require some introduction to bespeak 
his friendly regard. I have more than once encoimtered 
a very visible shyness on the part of clergymen, although 
I have been so fortuna,te as to overcome it. 



I 



224 COUNTRY LIFE. 

You ask about the JSehctie. The sale does not in- 
CTease. The times are against it, and its enemies are 
very numerous, among those who ought to be its Mends. 

It is thrown away upon the Dissenters. Thej prefer 
the Evangelical Moffoame and the Congregational, I 
am very ghid to hear any remarks which may occur to 
you. You allude, I suppose, to the review of Cornwall's 
poems, when you speak of objectionable extracts. It 
did not strike me in the same light, but I dare say you 
are right. I am, however, almost sick of the w(H*k ; it is 
an ungracious, and -laborious, and not very profitable 
task to conduct it ; and had I a few additional hundreds 
(i/nter nas) I should have great pleasure in publishing a 
farewell number. And yet there have been some very 
valuable articles. That on Southey's " Wesley" in this 
Number is an admirable one. Tell me anything you 
hear about the E, B, that can be a help or encourage- 
ment to me. 

. . . I was very much pleased with my Leicester 
visit. I spent the whole of one day, and the greater 
part of two others, in Mr. Hall's company. He was 
quite himself — exceedingly affable and conversational, 
but quiet and regulated, nothing eccentric, perfectly 
simple ; in the pulpit very serious. 

Sept. 19, 1821. — In how much mercy does this day 
return ! All my comforts spared — and such comforts-^ 
my health regained, and, may I hope, some growth. 

I am more and more willing to be in God's hands. I 
muH walk by faith. 

Here seems the prospect of usefulness, the sphere of 
duty. I shall either be kept here, or see why I am not 
to stay. God can do without me anywhere ; I without 
Him nowhere. If He has given me a desire to serve 



MEDITATIONS. 225 

Him, He will either employ me, or, if not, He will accept 
the desire. 

It is a great lesson to be content to be nothing, and 
to do nothing, but at his bidding; to be satisfied just 
with the station, the boundary, and the work He has 
assigned; not to suffer -even the wish to be useftil to 
seduce my desires out of the allotted sphere of present 
duty ; to act just the part allotted me. The Lord grant 
me wisdom to know what this is ; to make it my choice, 
and humbly to confine myself to it with cheerful dili- 
gence, as the best and fittest for me. 

" They also serye who only stand and wait." 

I have been several times striking myself against the wires 
of my cage. God is teaching me thus to be quiet under 
his wise restraints, to wait till his hand opens the door. I 
do not know myself, but Q-od does. But for these wires 
that restrain, mortify, hurt me, I might have fled into 
the world. Politics, literature, the polite world, the pride 
of life ; how I could yet enjoy them, vanity and vexation 
as they are ! Blessed be God for salutary mortifications. 

Nov, 1821. — ^Dreamed that I was in great trouble and 
perplexity with my father, and had been weeping, when 
the words suddenly occurred, " I will bless the Lord at 
all times ;" that it suggested itself that times of sorrow 
and distress must be included in the words " all times;" 
that blessing God was never out of season ; and that I 
began singing, which gave an immediate turn to my feel- 
ings. My mind was relieved, and I woke in a serene state 
of mind, under the strong impression of the sentiment. 

At the 'close of 1821, Mr. Conder left St. Alban'a, 
though with the full intention of returning (having en- 
gaged another house there),, and spent some time with 

Q 



226 COUNTRY LIFE. 

Mrs. Conder'a family at Chelsea. For the nine or ten 
Sabbaths previous to quitting St. Alban's, he was con- 
stantly engaged in village preaching — " whether to any 
effectual purpose is known only to the Searcher of hearts. 
The people generally were extremely attentive, and in 
two instances transitory conversions were the result." 
At all events, he felt that he " got good," and was " will- 
ing to work for those wages." Circumstances prevented 
the fulfilment of his plans and expectations in reference 
to returning into Hertfordshire, and that year was passed 
at Brompton. Here he attended the ministry of the 
Eev. John Morison, whose preaching and friendship he 
highly valued ; for whom, during three-and-forty years, 
he maintained an unbroken regard and esteem ; and who, 
on his part, gave the strongest expression of the value 
which he set on that long-continued friendship, by under- 
taking, at great risk to his own health and even life, the 
melancholy and solemn office — which no one else could 
so fittingly have discharged — of conducting the funeral 
service, when the mortal remains of his old friend and 
feUow-labourer were laid to rest. 

In the spring of the following year, 1823, Mr. Conder 
again removed into the country, and took up a temporary 
residence at Chenies, in Buckinghamshire, in a pleasant 
cottage belonging to some friends. This quiet retreat, 
further distant from smoky, toilsome London than could 
be measured by miles, afforded a sojourn fit for a poet. 
Untouched almost by the hand of modem improvement, 
with its unenclosed common and single row of thatched 
cottages, on one side only of the road, parted from each 
other by trim gardens; with its great house, and its 
great oak, its pump, sheltered by aged elmst its simple, 
homely, kindly population of peasants and lace-makers \ 
its '' white house" and its paper-mill ; its venerable church, 



CHENIES. 227 

proud of its old hatchments and monuments, and its 
modest Baptist meeting ; with its neighbouring park and 
mansion of Lattimers ; and its corn-fields, beech-woods, 
and meadow-bordered trout stream---its likeness might 
have been painted for the ideal of an English village, 
l^e very existence of London was attested only by the 
post walking in at noon, or by the arrival of the leisurely 
stage-coach in the evening, bringing the newest news, and 
sometimes a passenger ; which, after exciting due atten- 
tion among the urchins, curs, and idlers of the little 
village, rolled down the steep chalky road cut through 
the common, and away further yet into the deep country. 
In this rural retirement, literary toil was pleasantly re- 
lieved by out-door exercise, and converse with simple 
nature in those homely and thoroughly English scenes ; 
poetry continued to be an occasional recreation; and 
those Sabbath labours which had commenced at St. Alban's, 
and were not altogether discontinued at Brompton, found 
scope sometimes in the village chapel, sometimes in the 
neighbouring hamlets. The stage-coach usually stopped 
several times in the week at the garden gate, to receive 
or deliver precious little packets of printer's " copy," for 
the days of penny stamps and book postage were not 
yet dreamed of; and once a month the editor was wont 
to mount the roof or shut himself inside, as the weather 
might dictate, and rush up to London, at the giddy rate 
of eight miles per hour, to superintend the " getting out" 
of the ^Eclectic. 

Welcome as the fresh escape to the country was, the 
year spent in London had been one of great mercy, and 
had passed happily and profitably. A retrospective 
memorandum of its circumstances concludes thus : — 
" I could not probably have spent it so usefully at St. 
Alban's, nor, with all the drawbacks, so happily. Were 



228 COUNTRY LIFE. 

not those reasons for our going there ?" A journey into 
Suffolk, Norfolk, and Essex had formed a pleasant' inter- 
lude ; and when railways were not, and the separation of 
friends by a hundred or two hundred miles interposed a 
barrier which it is difficult now to realize, such a journey 
was anticipated and remembered with a degree of in- 
terest in which it requires some little stretch of imagina- 
tion — or of memory — ^to sympathize. Family mercies 
occupied a large space in the retrospect. A fourth son, 
bom at St. Michaers, and a fifth at Brompton, filled the 
place of the two lost ones ; and effectually guarded 
against the danger of dulness in the new country home. 
The following brief extracts touch upon some of the 
literary and ecclesiastical occupations of this interval. 
Mr. Condor's village labours had led to the publications 
here referred to — "The Village Lecturer," al2mo volume 
of sermons for rustic congregations ; and "Thomas John- 
son's Eeasons for Dissent," a plain discussion of Non- 
comformist principles, in two tracts, in dialogue form, of 
which several thousands were sold, and which is still 
suited for distribution among 'cottage readers. 



To Jomsf Bylet, Esq. 

19'oyember 7, 1822. 

XXXYin Tou will be surprised to receive 

a communication from me for the Congregational Maga- 
zme. I wrote it off to-day on the spur of the moment ; 
and as Philippensis ought not to go unanswered, I hope 
it will please you. My sermon was not wholly suggested 
by Joyce, though I got some valuable ideaa from him. 
But I have been lately paying particular attention to 
the 1st Epistle of John, which has obtained far less 
attention than it merits. I preached again for M. last 



PREACHING AND AUTHORSHIP. 229 

night, on Justification, from Eom. v. 9. It was an old 
village sermon — ^at least, I had preached it once in the 
village of Park Street. It is a most comprehensive text. 
Your high pulpits, however, make one feel very differently 
£pom the plain deal desk just overlooking the forms of 
a rustic tenement, half-lighted up with thin candles. 
But M.'s Wednesday evening congregation are simple- 
minded pious people. 

To Eet. H. ^Mabch. 

Deoember, 1822. 
XXXIX. Art thou in health, my brother ? I have 
no sword in my hand to accompany the question with a 
thrust under the fiilh rib, but such castigation as my 
pen may administer were most worthily bestowed on 
you, could I be sure that you would answer in the 
affirmative. I have written to you twice, at distant in- 
tervals — ^have sent you the "Village Lecturer" at one 
time, and " Thomas Johnson,*' Part II., at another — ^have 
been waiting, with all the vain solicitude of an author, 
superinduced on all the honest anxiety of a friend, for a 
notice in reply ; but aU in vain. The year has almost 
run out, and we parted at Midsummer, since which your 
existence in this world has been a mere presumption 
with me, an hypothesis which is fast losing its proba- 
bility. Have you been iU p Have you got married ? 
Are you compiling a foHo ? Or what has so strangely 
absorbed you ? I shall expect no ordinary matter-of- 
course explanation of so pertinacious and unreasonable a 
silence. Overwhelmed as I am with demands on my 
pen just now, you must consider it as an unaffected proof 
of my thinking more of you than you appear to do of us, 
that I sit up an extra hfdf-hour to send this scrawl of 
inquiry to find you out, or your executors. 



230 COUNTRY LIFE. 

.... Have you ever seen Calyin's sermonB on Jacob 
and Esau, from the passage in Q-enesis ? There is some 
naughty theology in them. I wish you could learn from 
Creak whether they are in his works. They were preached 
in French. I want chiefly to know at what time of his 
life they were preached, whether in the days of raw zeal, 
or of mellow orthodoxy. 

1 

XL. Thank you for your remarks on the " Village 
Lecturer." The work has been abundantly lauded in 
the Christian Monitor, a Scotch periodical, in the Con- 
gregational Magazine, Quardianf etc. But you have found 
the most fault, and given the most emphatic praise ; for 
I value more the praise of having urged truth home on 
the conscience, than any other encomium that could be 
passed on it. As to your objection to the want of a 
formal division in some (for to some only it applies — 
plan there is, strictly and steadily adhered to, in all), 
Morison says you are right ; and I am therefore bound 
to defer to your concurrent decision. I am not indeed 
inclined to dispute that your plan is generally preferable; 
but I am disposed to advocate a variety of method, and 
cannot quite think that every subject must needs be 
treated in the same method. I have no objection to 
exposition, sermon, and homily, in turn. And if the 
heads and outline of the less formal discourse may not 
stick in the memory quite so well, the end may be 
answered if but a general impression is left. But, as I 
said before, I do not mean to dispute the general correct- 
ness of your remark. I think I may venture to say that 
those sermons, as delivered, were understood. Whether 
any lasting good was the result, will probably not be 
known in this world. I am quite uncertain whether a 
second volume will be called for. . I have more than a 



CATECHISMS. 231 

sufficient number of sketches, some that I have preae^d 
from, and others drawn up as the subject occurred. 

A catechism on Nonconformity — ^is it really wanted ? 
I should like to draw up one, if I thought it was, but 
should like to talk it over with you. You have seen 
Miller's " Catechism on a Christian Church," of course. 
I think I should prefer giving lectures on Nonconformity 
to teaching its principles in a catechism. "Would you in 
a catechism go into history, as Palmer has done ? If 
not, the whole will go into a nutshell. Let me have 
your matured ideas. My abridgment* you will find im- 
proved and simplified, if I do not deceive myself. .... 
I can beat your Eoman Catholic story. Morison's father 
was explicitly told by a Scotch Catholic, that if the priest 
told him that a crow which appeared. to him black, was 
white, he should believe it, for that the priest must be 
infallible. ^ 

Chenies, April, 182d. 

XLI. What do you use as a doctrinal catechism ? 
Do you use any ? I have been lately looking at the 
Assembly's Catechism, but cannot bring myself to ap- 
prove of it. This would have been a confession of heresy 
a centuiy ago ; but do we not really want a doctrinal 
catechism, with Scripture proofs, suited to the present 
state of theological knowledge? I have sometimes 
thought of attempting such a thing. My whole spare 
time has lately been occupied with revising the "Memoirs 
of Pious Women," by Gibbons and Burder, and writing 
several new lives for the new edition, in the place of a 
good deal of religious trash which I have cast out. I hope 
I shall have done a service to the cause, as the work is a 
popular one, and some of the lives are very interesting. 

* Second Edition of " Protestant Nonconformity." 



232 COUNTRY LIFE. 

My next job muat be a second volume of " The Village 
Lecturer," which is called for. It is a mercy that I can 
stand writing better than you, or I should long since 
have been knocked up. But He who has given us our 
respective tasks, '' knoweth our frame." 

Chenies, July 6, 1823. — ^Three months have elapsed 
since we came into this sweet retreat. He maketh us 
lie down in green and flowery pastures. Lord, show me 
what I can do for Thee here, and teach me to learn of 
Thee, the meek and lowly Teacher, who didst not think it 
beneath Thee to attend to infant disciples. That is not 
a sincere, simple desire to be useful, which disdains the 
narrowest sphere — ^which is not faithful in a little, or con- 
tent to toil much for a little success — ^which cannot at 
times stcmd 2*y, and when little is to be done with man, 
occupy itself in " besieging" heaven, 

September 21, 1823. — This day three years I was lying 
great part of the day on my bed, after my fall. Blessed 
be my God for life prolonged. Lord bless me, and make 

me a blessing God is condescending to employ 

me here. How unexpectedly can he open a door of use- 
fulness ! But " thou thai teachest another'^ — ^needful is 
the caution. How much easier and pleasanter it is to 
serve God in some ways, than to trust in Him, submit to 
Him, wait for Him. Yet may I not hope my life has 
been spared in mercy for God's service ? " Truly I am 
thy servant ; Thou hast loosed my bonds." If I have 
been useful, it has been since then. 

While residing at Chenies, Mr. Conder published a 
volume of poems, " the casual production of leisure hours, 
during the last twelve years;" and commenced what 



LITERARY LABOIDRS. 233 

proved the most laboriouB work of his life, and made a 
heavy demand on his active brain and pen during seven 
years, the " Modem Traveller." The former work camfe 
out under the title of " The Star in the East, with other 
Poems ; by Josiah Conder." It included, as the preface 
intimates, some compositions from Mrs. Conder's pen. 
The principal poem was in part a republication (" to the 
extent of about ninety lines") of a poem published in 1812, 
under the title " Gloria in Excelsis Deo," of which the 
greater part of the impression was given away. The other 
poems are arranged under the three heads of " Sacred," 
"Domestic," and "Miscellaneous," including several 
descriptive sketches &om nature. Of the sacred pieces, 
several have established themselves in our psalmody ; and 
those which come under the denomination of hymns or 
psalms have been recently reprinted in the little volume 
which their author was engaged u\, carrying through the 
press, when he was unexpectedly called to close his earthly 
course, and learn the " new song" of the Church above. 

The " Modem Traveller" was designed to supply for 
general readers a popular, correct, and comprehensive 
survey of the principal countries of the world, and a 
convenient vade-mecum for travellers, the description of 
each country forming a complete work in a very portable 
form. It was published in monthly parts, two of which 
formed a volume. The series, extending to thirty volumes, 
was completed in the year 1830. "Italy," in three 
volumes, was subsequently added. It is curious that the 
most laborious and complete account as yet existing in 
the language of the various countries of the globe, should 
have been the production of a writer who never crossed 
either of the channels in his life, nor, until he had passed his 
sixtieth year, ever travelled as far fi^om London as even to 
the English lakes. Mr. Conder at first undertook to edit 



234 COUNTRY LIFE. 

the whole work, and to execute a portion of it himBelf. 
Writing (in March) to his friend Mr. Eyley, who had 
engaged to write the volume on Greece, he says : — " The 
work is meant to be strictly popular — as light and a/neC' 
dotiatical as you please. I have undertaken to edit the 
whole work ; but as to writing it all it is quite impos- 
sible, and I should be glad to have yet further assistance 
than you can give. You will see that I have taken no 
small pains with Palestine, and it pleases, I am told, very 
much. I am pledged to get out Sjrria, Part I., for 
May Ist, and must work very hard." Eventually he re- 
ceived assistance in but one or two volumes, and even 
those involved considerable labour in editing. The work, 
with these exceptions, was the product of his single pen, 
and forms a monument of literary industry not often 
surpassed. Every work of importance or value was 
consulted, extended accounts were laboriously digested, 
and conflicting statements scrutinized and reconciled. 
Great pains were bestowed, in several instances, on the 
history of the country under consideration, as in the' case 
of the four volumes on India. Several of the volumes 
still remain the best guide-books to the traveller in the 
respective countries. It is simple fact to say, that the 
thirty- three volumes constitute one of the most accurate, 
faithful, and laborious compilations in the compass of 

literature. 

ChenieB, May, 1824. 

XLII I have been compelled to suspend all 

correspondence, and have hardly been able to take time 
sufficient for needful exercise. I have unwittingly in- 
volved myself in more task-work than I can well accom- 
plish. For the past three months I have produced a 
part per month (180 pages) of a certain work called the 
" Modem Traveller," and must still do so until relieved 



LITEBARY TOIL. 235 

bj my coadjutors in the work. Before that commenced 
I had to get out mj poemB. I haye had half a volume 
of sermons transcribed for some months, but haye be^i 
wholly unable to proceed with them. All this, in addi- 
tion to what comes upon me monthly — the Eclectic! 

And in the midst of this, my poor friend B has been 

of little service to me for some months, owing to the 
anxiety connected with the illness and death of his son. 
.... I am now writing while you are slumbering, not 
because I am more at leisure, but because I am too tired 
to prosecute my literary toils to-night. I haye reason 
to be thankful that, notwithstanding late hours and hard 
work, my health has been very good, as well as that of 
my dear wife and our triumpuerate. 

.... The Eclectic has contained some articles I 
diould Hke to chat about, but I will not fill up my paper 
with them. Some of our wiseacres are fiudiug out that 
the Eclectic is rising — ^that is, they read it. Tou will 
find an article of Bobert Hall's in the last niunber. 

.... We leave Chenies, that is to say, our term 
expires, at Midsummer, but our future locale is undeter- 
mined. We are anxious to fix iu the neighbourhood of 
Uxbridge, for the sake of being near my sister, but no 
house has as yet turned up. This is a delightful retreat, 
and we are attached to the place and the people ; but 
here is strict communion, no doctor, and — no house: 
three sufficient reasons for not staying you will say. 
But it has been a pleasant inn by the way ; and I have 
found abundant village-work. Whether any good has 
been done, another day will reveal. I have occasionally 
supplied my excellent neighbour's pulpit (though de- 
barred from the table), and have foirnd myself none the 
worse for three services on the Sunday, My first Sab- 
baths are spent in London. 



236 COUNTRY LIFE. 

The hoped-for house made its appearance just in 
time, not in the neighbourhood of Uxbridge, but in the 
outskirts of the quiet little town of Watford. Thither 
Mr. Conder and his family removed at Midsummer, 1824, 
when the pleasant sojourn at Chenies terminated, and 
there the following fifteen years of his life were spent. 

As the volume of poems above referred to has for 
many years been out of print, and it is doubtful if they 
wiU ever be reprinted, the reader may not be displeased 
by the insertion of the following two sketches of Buck- 
inghamshire scenery, which will answer for any other 
autumn, as well as for one thirty years ago. The village 
clocks have ticked out the last moments of a whole gene- 
ration since then, and a second generation reaps the 
harvest ; but the same beech woods slope down to the 
meadowy valley, and the trout stream murmurs among 
the rushes and under the drooping boughs the same 
song as of old : — 

« For men maj oome, and men may go, 
But I go on for ever." 

The first of these sonnets is from Mrs. Conder*s pen ; 
the second fi^om Mr. Condor's own hand. In the original 
volume they form half of a series of four sonnets on 
" Autumn." 

I. 

A glorions daj ! The village is a*field : 
Her pilloVd laoe no thrifty housewife weaves, 
Nor platters sit heneath the flowery eaves. 

The golden slopes an ample hardest yield ; 

And every hand that can a sickle wield 

Is husy now. Some stoop to bind the sheaves, 
While to the o*erburden*d waggon one upheaves 

The load, among its streamers half conoeal'd. 

• « Star in the Bast," etc., pages 173, 174. 



CHENIES. 237 

We heard the ticking of the lonelj clock 

Plun thro' each open door, all was so stilL 
For, busily dispersed, near erery shock 

Their hands with trailing ears the urchins fiU. 
Where all is cleared, small birds securely flock. 
While full on lingering day the moon shines from the hill. 

n. 
Now thaSt the flowers haye fiided, 'tis the turn 

Of leayes to flaunt in all their gayest dyes. 

'Tis Autumn^'s gala : eyery diyad yies 
In decking out her bower. How richly bum 

The gwgeons maesee in the amber skiee, 
Where to the west, the yaUey, with its stream, 
Is e&ut with woods that drink the setting beam 

There by its crimson foliage one descries 
The oheny, thrown out by the auburn shades 

Of beedi, with russet oak, and hoary sallow, 
And greenest ash, bearing its golden keys. 

With here and there wych-elm of paler yellow. 
How graceMly the waning season fEules ! 
So Nature's eyery dress and eyery look can please. 



CHAPTEE VI. • 

WATFOBD. 

Etebtbodt knows where Watford is ; for it is a station 
on the North- Western Sailway, and everybody has 
travelled by the North- Western Sailway. Everybody 
knows how the railway sweeps in a quarter-circle round 
the quiet little town, as if it liked to look at it, but 
thought it a pity to touch it ; and how, rushing over the 
viaduct, which seems, by its length and loftiness, a stand- 
ing mockery of the quiet little river that wanders beneath 
it amongst water-meadows and rows of pollard willows, 
the "down express" sweeps past a pleasant picture of 
houses girdled with hedge-rows and corn-fields ; the old 
church, picturesquely odd and charmingly ugly, keep- 
ing guard over the other buildings, like an old sentinel 
asleep at his post, and the modest Baptist chapel in 
ambush, as it were, among the trees ; how it flashes past 
the station, and between the steep chalk banks of the 
deep cutting, and plunges into the darkness of a mile- 
long tunnel. 

But thirty years ago, everybody did not know where 
Watford was. Sailways and locomotives were among 
the undeveloped possibilities of the future. Any one 
who had talked of travelling from London to Birmingham 
in four hours, and of crossing the Atlantic in a week, 
would have been laughed to scorn as a hair-brained 
tfithusiast ; and any one who had foretold, that within 



A GEXERATION AGO. 239 

forty years, we should talk round our dinner-tables in 
London of what has been done and said the same morn- 
ing in New York, or, in a few years more, in Pekin and 
Australia, would have run great risk of being shut up as 
a ma>dman. It would have been as ridiculous and absurd 
as to have asserted that spoons and forks would be plated 
or gilded by electricity, and portraits painted by sun- 
beams ; or that Papists and Dissenters might be admitted 
to Parliament, and the corn-laws abolished, and yet the 
British Constitution survive the shock. 

In those quiet old days — only a generation ago, yet 
separated by what a wide intellectual interval from this 
sixth decade of the century ! — ^Watford was a most quiet 
little country town, exceedingly weU-known by the four 
thousand people who dwelt there, but not very widely 
known to the rest of the world. It possessed the usual 
features and social elements of a small market-town in 
an agricultural district, with no staple trade or manu- 
facture. There were the neighbouring nobility and 
gentry, who made their appearance on great occasions, 
as at public meetings, concerts, or county elections. 
There were triumphant Tories, and wistful Whigs. There 
was the vicar, an earl's nephew, generally to be seen on 
a fine day, with his portly figure, white trousers, and 
jovial face, chatting with his parishioners ; or not seldom, 
in the hunting season, riding through the street (there 
was but one street), in his scarlet jacket and white cords. 
There was the dissenting minister who preached at the 
quaint little old Baptist chapel (since superseded by a 
modem structure), the secluded position of which, en- 
trenched among crooked back-lanes, told of the times in 
which Nonconformity had been fain to seek safety in 
obscurity. There were two or three rival lawyers, and 
two or three rival doctors, and two rival principal inns, 



240 WATFORD. 

one with a gentlemanly landlord, the other with an 
unparalleled waiter. There was the retired great book- 
seller, and the great brewer preparing to retire, and the 
great nobody, at the great white house, and the great 
man, who drove about in a little chaise, because he was 
too bulky to walk, never went to church because he 
could not get into his pew, and was credibly reported 
always to eat a leg of mutton as a precaution before he 
went out to dine. There were rich inillers and farmers, 
and well-to-do shopkeepers, and hard-working cottagers, 
too many publicans, and a full average of beggars and 
scamps. There were electioneering squabbles (for the 
county), and great savings' bank questions, and great 
right-of-way questions; and, in later years, a great 
Eeform banquet and illumination ; and, as in most small 
country towns, where everybody knows everybody, a great 
deal of gossip. As the town lay several miles off the 
Great North Eoad, there was no great amount of traffic 
passing through. Two or three London coaches, on theur 
way to Chesham, Hempstead, or some other town ftirther 
down in the country, were the modest substitute for long 
nulway trains, with their two or three hundred passen- 
gers. A few lumbering carriers' vans represented the 
"goods trains" of later and more impatient times. Every 
night, the mail-coach, with its flaring eyes and red-coated 
guard, made the quiet streets echo to its horn, picked up, 
perhaps, its one passenger, and excited mysterious feel- 
ings of respect and wonder in the minds of little boys. 
All around the dear, dull, quiet little town lay the still 
more quiet country. Two minutes would bring you into 
it; on the one side across the little river Colne, into 
green low-lying meadows, which the artificially-raiBe^ 
banks do not keep the stream firom overflowing for milei 
after very heavy rains ; on the other, through the lime- 



WATFORD FIELD HOUSE. 241 

shaded churchyard, out among corn-fields arid homesteads, 
and shady lanes ; or over stiles and through footpaths, 
to where the deer browse among the spreading limes and 
beeches, or hide in the thickets of tall fern, in Cassiobury 
Park. 

On the outskirts of the town, surrounded by a plea- 
Bant garden, orchard, and meadows, stood (and still 
stands) a white, slate-roofed house, yclept "Watford 
Keld House." It was so named from a large open piece 
of ground known as "Watford Field, which was what is 
termed " Lammas land," being under cultivation during 
summer, and common after the harvest has been got in. 
The writer can scarcely persuade himself to describe the 
house as small, so lofty and capacious did it seem in 
childish eyes ; but it was not particularly commodious, 
having been altered from an inferior building. It afforded 
but^two sitting-rooms, one of which was necessarily occu- 
pied as library and literary workshop ; so the other had 
to do double duty as dining-room and. drawing-room. 
But in summer-time, the garden made a delightful with- 
drawing-room, where the tea-table was not seldom set in 
front of the house, on what the children called " mamma's 
lawn," in distinction from " papa's lawn," on which the 
study looked out. The charm of the residence lay out- 
side the house ; in the garden, where walks were turned, 
and new portions enclosed, and fences set up, and flower- 
beds designed, and hedges and shrubberies planted, and 
which, as years rolled by, amply repaid with its growing 
betiruty the labour bestowed on it ; in the orchard and 
meadows, where violets grew in spring, and hay waa cut 
in summer, and fruit ripened in autumn, demanding, on 
the part of the juvenile ' scions of the house, rigorous 
watch and ward against stealthy invasions of greedy 
swine or lawless urchins from the hostile border tern- 



242 WATFORD. 

tory of the Lammas land ; in a word, in the pure, health- 
ful, cheerful atmosphere of the coimtry which hreathed 
around. 

Amidst these quiet country scenes fifteen years of 
Mr. Gender's life were passed; years of intense and 
almost unremitting labour, chequered with some corrod- 
ing cares and trials, and now and then shadowed with 
heavy sorrows ; yet years of great and manifc^d mercy, 
during which, though death entered once under his roof, 
the fireside circle of wife and children was not only pre^ 
served unbroken, but augmented by the birth of a daugh- 
ter and a sixth son. In addition to his literary toil% 
Mr. Conder found time to take part in various benevo- 
lent and religious movements and institutions, not only in 
the town, but in a somewhat extended district. He was 
very frequently engaged in preaching, sometimes at the 
Baptist Chapel in the town, or the Independent Chapel at 
the neighbouring village, of Bushey, but more often at 
.some humble place of worship in the surrounding country, 
Sometimes, after a week of hard work, and in prospect 
of another, his Sabbath rest consisted in taking three full 
services. His catholic spirit led him frankly to co- 
operate with Christians of all denominations. His house 
was always open to ministers; he never grudged his 
labour in a good cause ; and as the standing rule, with 
the Church as well as with the world, is that those who 
Bre willing to work shall do not only their own share, but 
the share of those who are not willing, the time spent 
in attending meetings of various religious societies, and 
in other gratuitous labours, must have amounted to some- 
thing very considerable. Curiously enough (as the 
writer learned accidentally from a gentleman who knew 
Mr. Conder only from meeting him on these occasions, 
in a town at some distance), these disinterested and, to 



. WORK. 243 

him, costly labours led ma&j to imagine that he was a 
wealthy man ; perhaps the only instance in which he was 
estimated above his merit. 

While residing at Watford, Mr. Conder completed 
the " Modem Traveller" and '* Italy ;" continued to edit 
the Eclectic^ until he parted with it at the dose of 1886 to 
Dr. Thomas Price ; compiled and edited the " Congrega- 
tional Hymn Book ;*' published a '* Dictionary of Qeo- 
graphy," a second volume of Poems, a new translation of 
the " Epistle to the Hebrews," an " Analytical View of 
all Beligions," and several smaller works ; and commenced 
the editorship of the Ftxtriot newspaper, which he con- 
tinued until his decease. 

Some of the following extracts firom his correspond* 
ence will indicate at what pressure his mental powers 
were worked. He wrote a good deal standing, at a desk 
made for the purpose, which no doubt contributed to his 
health. Often his pen was at work far into the night, 
not firom preference, but firom necessity. Had not his 
constitution been naturally very sound and strong, it 
could not have stood the strain often put upon it. But 
his capacity for intellectual labour, and delight in it, 
were great ; he wrote with amazing facility and rapidity, 
and if only his mind could have been kept firee from care 
and anxiety, it seemed as if he could execute any amount 
of work without distress. Almost his only recreations were 
walking, working in his garden, and music, with occasional 
relaxation in the society of a pleasant circle of firiends. 
Change of occupation seemed to serve him for rest. If 
not engaged in preaching on the Sabbath, his recreation 
was found in translating an epistle of the New Testfr* 
ment, or in studying various biblical and theological sub- 
jects ; and more than one of his published works were 
the result of these Sabbath studies. 



244 WATFORD. 

He had a great power of abstraction ; and although 
he usually worked alone in his study, he could also carry 
on his labour in the midst of the fireside circle, undis- 
tracted by what was going on around, though not always 
inattentive to it. One of his sisters writes : — " While I 
was astonished at the versatility of his mind and his in- 
dustry, I often feared his brain would give Way under the 
pressure. His mind was, however, remarkably buoyant ; 
he could cast off care for a time, and dismiss subjects 
from his mind as often as he laid down the pen ; and this 
saved him.'* He had in a remarkable measure the '* power 
of giving attention to two totally different subjects at 
the same time. I have often known him busily engaged 
writing a* review, while a party were reading aloud an 
interesting book; when he would make intelligent re- 
marks upon it, proving that he thoroughly entered into 
what was being read." This habitually strong mastery 
over his own thoughts, combined with his calm and elastic, 
temperament, no doubt enabled him to carry cheerfully a 
load under which most men would have staggered. But 
his natural gifts would not have stood him in such stead 
as they did^ had he not possessed the secret of that 
strength which prayer lays hold of, and that antidote to 
anxious fear which is found in '' casting all our care upon 
GK)d." His faith in the overruling and fatherly providence 
of Gk)d in all things, small as well as great, was remark- 
ably simple and intense ; and it was signally honoured 
by Him who loves to be trusted as well as obeyed im- 
plicitly, in many instances which it does not fall within 
the plan of this memoir to relate. Pew Christians have 
believed with more entire confidence, or proved more 
fully and evidently in their personal experience, the truth 
of the promise, '* The steps of a good man are ordered by 
the Lord, and He delighteth in his way. Though he 



NEW SC£N£S* M& 

Ml, he shall not be utterly ca49t down, for the Lord up- 
holdeth him with his hand." The cheering light of such 
promises was none the less welcome and precious in hid 
eyes, because it shone from " those old Hebrew stars ;" for 
he wafi not one of those who imagine that the New Testae 
ment — ^itself the ftdfilment of an Old Testament promise — 
contradicts or supersedes the elder Scriptures, or that in 
a world like this we can afford to fling away any of Gjod'ii^ 
promises, or repose our &ith upon a mutilated Bible* 

Watford, Aug. 1824. — ^How little, three months ago, 
did we think of residing here. Not more shut up did 
our way seem before removing to St. Albans and to 
Chenies, than it did before this turning opened. . . . « w 
No sooner have we taken this, than houses are offered 
where we had been seeking them, at Missenden, etc. But 
I feel in a strange land, among strangers — ^the church of 
a strange communion. [" Strict communion" here, too, 
in those days ; the preacher, afber instructing his worthy 
Baptist brethren from the Word of Gk)d and leading theii* 
devotions, having to go and sit in the vestry, while they 
celebrated around " their table" the communion of saints!] 
For the poor people of Chenies I had formed an affeo-> 
tionate interest. But. these are the conditionci of a 
journey. This is 'but another inn on the road. 

Lord, fit me by the grace of humility for thy work 
here. Give Thou me my directions and my message. 
Lead me by thy Spirit in b, plain path. Purify my zeal 
from ambilion. Let me not forget that important part 
of likeness to Christ, self-denial. "For even Christ 
pleased not Himself." 

O Gtod, I adore Thee that Thou canst make me holy 
and meet to dwell with Thee, through the might of thy 
transforming grace^ 



246 . WATFORD. 

Loid, grant me grace to hiimble mjBelf imder the hand 
of thy mercy, that I may not need to be humbled by the 
hand of thy chaatiaement. 

I tmat I am pardoned by my Judge and (Joyemor: 
I daily need the forgiyeneas of my heavenly Father. 

ILiy I feel more of the power of religion on my aonl, 
connecting me with Thee aa my Author, Preaerver, and 
Happiness ! That power, what is it but love, the only 
reality in knowledge ? 

To TBI BxT. H. Maboh. 

Londoii, July 2, 1824. 

XLin. Mt niAB EniEin), — I am sitting down at 
Homerton to answer yonr letter of May 81, that I may 
put a letter for you into the post-office before I leave 
town to recommence the toils of the month. I was very 
aorry to hear of yonr having sustained the loss of your 
brother's society and effective servicea. It must have 
left you very lonely, and it is not ,good to be alone. 
How do you manage P Even a monastery is better than 
a hermitage. I do not advise you to marry ; you would 
think it, perhaps, much like my saying, " Be rich, be in 
good heall^ be ye warmed and filled." But I should be 
glad to hear that you had so found fiivour of the Lord, aa 
the wise man speaks, as to be directed to a help-meet. . . 

You asked me some time ago to ezphun my objectiona 
to the Assembly's Catechism. I will detail a few ; and 
if you can obviate them, I shall be glad to be set right. 
I object, then, in the first place, to Questions 7 and 8. 
Where did the venerable compilers get the phrase, Dff- 
eree$ of Qvd? Why adopt an unscriptural, or at least 
non-scriptural word, on purpose to give an explanation 
of it, which explanation is little better than verbiage, 
and can, at all events, convey no rational idea to a child P. 



THE assembly's CATECHISM. 247 

This 18 surely " vain philosophy.'* (2.) Q. 11. " Worki 
of providence" — " preserving of actions" — what strangely 
incorrect expressions ! And the providence of GtoA is 
improperly identified with his moral government. (3.) 
Q. 12. "A cov^eiant of life" — ^unintelligible, at least to 
me. I know, indeed, what must be meant, but the 
phrase is alike obscure and ambiguous — an affected 
wrapping-up of the fact in the technicalities of theology. 
(4.) Q. 13. " The freedom of their own will " — ^an idle 
attempt at explanation. '^Why left?" says a child. 
^ Why did Gk>d go away ? Had they sinned before, and 
did Ghod leave them to pimish them ?" .... (6.) Q. 18. 
Here k a straage con^ion of sinfulness and guilt — > 
hereditary taint amd personal transgression. (7.) Q. 20. 
I object strongly to the phraseology ; and without holding 
anything in direct contradiction to what is here affirmed, 
I could neither teach nor subscribe such crude and un-p 
scripture-like statements. I am not sure, however, that, 
taken in connection with what foUows, the words do not 
imply what is incorrect in sentiment. (8.) Q. 21. He 
is the Bedeemer of the world, (9.) Q. 29. The redemp- 
tion purchased is the purchase purchased. The language 
of Scripture is, that Christ has purchased the Church, 
not the salvation of the Church. The " purchased pos- 
session" is not heaven, or the blessings of- salvation, but 
the Church itself, which He has ransomed. (10.) ^' Effeo>- 
tual caUing," in Q. 30, is a technicality £ir from felicit- 
ous. (11.) Q. 67. " Kill" is a blunder. The magistrate 
may kill. War was at least lawful when ihe command-* 
ments were given. The sixth commandment is, *^ Thou 
shalt do no murder," .... (14.) Q. 94. 1 should say 
that it does not signify our ingrafting into Christ, etc. 

Here is a formidable array of objections. I hope 
that you will not deem me captious, or heretical. But I 



248 WATFORD. 

should doubtless have been considered as both in the 
"good old days" of King Noll. The Presbyterians 
would have been ready to grill me. But now for other 
matters. B. Hall's article was the review of Biet's 
lectures in the May number. It followed a very mas* 
terly one on the criminal jurisprudence of France. In 
the present number is an admirable article by our friend 
I. T., on the state of religion in France. If anything 
would make a Dissenting work sell, such articles would i 
and if the Dissenters were worthy of the Eclectic, would 
make them at least prize it. Thank you for withstanding 
the flippant and indolent depreciation of it. I have not 
written much in the late numbers ; and nothing but my 
being a writer in the Beview prevents my taking a much 
higher tone. I am continually receiving testimonies to its 
character from those who are tt^'^Aot^^. . . . Thank you for 
your kind invitation, in my own name, and that of my wife; 
but it is impossible to accept of it, as we have more live 
stock than we could either bring or leave; and my books, 
which must follow me, would be a cartload. My health 
has been mercifully good in the midst of all my labours. 

To Mb. Etlet. 

London, Jnlj Ql, 1824. 

XLIY I have never been so near being knocked 

up by hard work and anxiety combined, and had almost 
despaired of getting out this Eclectic, Your assistance 
has saved me. Indisposition in the early part of the 
month, and removing into another house, together with 
the quantity of work involved in this last part of the 
" Traveller," drove me at last into extremities. I worked 
on Monday from half-past five, a.m., to near twelve at 
night, with little intermission, and by this sort of exer- 
tion only I have been brought through. Next month I 



"THE MOPERN TRAVELLER." 249 

have the prospect of a respite, but I am almost afiraid to 
reckon upon anything. 

You express a wish to have had Asia Minor com- 
mitted to 70U. You have, I am persuaded, no idea of 
the labour it has cost me, and the great perplexity in 
which great part of its geography is involved— far more 
than either Syria or Palestine. Greece cannot be more 
complicated. However, I have a proposal to make, which 
will, I hope, be agreeable to you. I will undertake 
Greece, if you wiU give it up and take Spain, which I 
had undertaken to do next. On account of the connec- 
tion between Greece and Asia Minor, I should like to 
do it ; and have, besides, materials by me for its modem 
history. Spain, I imagine, would bother you much less, 
and interest you almost as much. If you have no objec- 
tion to this arrangement, have the goodness to send back 
all the books you have of Mr. Duncan's to him; and 
those which we have collected for Spain shall be for- 
warded to you, together with any which may occur to you. 

XLV. — (to the bev, h. m.) 

Watford Field House, Norember 9, 1824. 

Let Mother Rome the banns forbid. 

When priests in wedlock join ; 
Sure Paul might do as Peter did, 

And Luther's right is thine ; 
And we will keep, in spite of Eome, 
Our wives, our Bibles, and our home. 

Such was the thought on hearing first, 

My friend, that you were mated, 
For which most Christian act you'd erst 

Been excommunicated, — 
In spite of what, as runs the Yulgate, 
St. Paul did specially promulgate ; — 



250 WATFORD. 

** SonorahiU in ommbw 

Cor^ugvum" and so forth. 
They honour it, thej tell you, thus : 

(The strangest gloss to go forth !) 
Marriage a sacrament they make, 
Yet will not let the priest partake ! 

Far worse this barbarous interdict, 

Than Baptist strict communion ! 
But you are now a Benedict, 

And blessed be your union. 
What joy to find a fiuthfiil wife 
A fellow-heir of endless life ! 

That hermitage of yours, how changed 

Will now its aspect seem ! 
The walks where once you lonely ranged 

In meditatire dream ; 
Or, when without *twas dark or muddy, 
The once dull parlour, lonely study ! 

That sanctum ! May a wife intrude^ 

Unauthorized, so far ? 
And what if little Hany should. 

Or Miss, besiege Papa P 
O March ! wilt thou become like me, — 
Not even hare your study free P 

Like me? — I need not wish my friend 

A more indulgent lot. 
May Health and Peace and Lore attend 

(Whether boys come or not) 
Tour wedded life, and may your way 
Be erer fton, and erer g<U ! 

JOSIAB. COHDSB. 

March 1, 1826. 

XLVI I have before protested against the 

inequitable rule of letter for letter. I cannot correspond 
with an old friend on such formal terms, ztior can I write 
to anj friend I value so often as I like to hear from him. 



TOIL AND SPIRITUALITY. 251 

After you had seen how I am eircumstanced, I should 
have thought my longest silence might be accounted for. 
I have just got through a month of literary labour that 
I dreaded to look forward to, and almost shudder to 
look back upon — 12 sheets to compose and print in 24 
days — i, e., 96 octavo pages, and 216 in 18mo. Through 
the goodness of G-od, my health has lasted me through it 
aU ; and this month I shall have a short interval to re- 
cover my breath, as the next part of the "Modem 
Traveller " is not to appear till the 1st of May, I am 
thus taking literally the first moment I could conscien- 
^ously spare to reply to your letter. 

.... In your previous letter you ask me whether 
my literary cares and employments deaden the spirit 
towards things divine. I think I may say, as interesfs, 
certainly not. I think I found myself in quite as much 
danger when employed on my Commentary,* as when 
engaged upon works less connected with religion. I 
think it is more difficult to be spiritual, when occupied 
with religion as it were professionally or critically, than 
when studying Horace, or compiling the "Traveller." 
Literature is not my pursuit, * but my business ; and to 
succeed in it — ^to get through the mere quantity of work 
per month which I must do, I feel the necessity of Divine 
help and direction. The review of Milton was a serious 
effort, and was not, as you will perceive, drawn up in a 
hurry. I had taken months to think over the chief 
points, and, distrusting the effect of plunging into such 
controversies on my mind, had endeavoured to arm my^ 
self with prayer against the encounter with scepticism 
tinder so specious a form. I have found the result bene- 
ficial to my own mind, and believe that the view I have 

* A brief but careful commentary on St. Matthew's Gbspel, never 
publiflhed. 



252 WATFOED. 

taken is the only satiBfactory one. I am glad tliat you 
approve of it. 

XL VII. Did you and our friend liave any talk 

about Mother Church and DissenteriBm ? I find from a 
recent letter, that^ though a practical Dissenter^ he has 
some penchant towards conformity. I find I am con* 
sidered by some persons as not decided enough, having 
been two or three times seen at Bushey Church, and 
being on terms of friendship with the excellent rector 
and curate. The subject of Dissent wants to be tho« 
roughly revised in a philosophic spirit, I value our 
prwileges as Dissenters more and more. I admire .our 
practice, in some respects, less. The pious clergyman ia 
'*an ambassador in bonds ;" and I am sometimes ready 
to wish to be '' altogether such except these bonds.'^ 
We, as Dissenters, have the best of the argument; but 
there is '* something against us." Tell me what you say 
to these things. 

A few brief extracts from Mr. Conder*s correspond- 
ence during these years, with his youngest sister, will 
serve to show how thoroughly the real work of life, and 
the deep, solemn realities which underlie all the changes, 
storms, and shadows of its surface, were present to his 
mind amidst all his daily toils ; and how ready his busy 
pen was to turn, when needful, to the difficult yet grate* 
fill task of Christian exhortation and consolation. 

XLYIII. I feel disposed to say to you in the worda 
of St. James, " Let patience have its perfect work." '^ Ye 
have heard," he says, '' of the patience of Job, and have 
seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very pitifid 
and of tender mercy." That is, what the Lord did in. 



CHRISTIAN CONSOLATION. 253 

the end. As if lie had said, the beginning of Job's history 
seemed to make this almost questionable. It must have 
been a long two years that Joseph passed in the prison, 
after the chief butler was restored to favour, under the 
sickening feeling of hope deferred. But though the chief 
butler had foi^otten him, his heavenly Father had not. 
There is nothing more hard than to wait for the Lord, 
to " rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him," when 
answers to prayers seem so long delayed as almost to 
amount to denial ; when you have been watching events 
and changes as they came on, in hope that each would 
prove the friend you were looking for, but when it drew 
near, the countenance was different, and you kept look- 
ing out still. 

The time has been that I have been led to say with 
Job, " Show me wherefore thou contendest with me?" 
But were the gold to say this to the refiner, it would get 
for answer. Silly metal, I am not angry with you, I should 
not take such pains with baser minerals. To interpret 
trying dispensations as marks of displeasure is the sure 
way to " faint when rebuked," which we are forbidden 
to do, because He loveth whom He chasteneth. 

(On occiuion of the dangerous illness of two nephews,) 
^^-Let me say to you, my dear sister, what I was enabled 
to say to niy dear wife, at the most trying moment. 
Now is the time to show your principles. Place your 
dear boys, for life or death, in the hands of Him who has 
the keys of the grave and of death, your Saviour and 
theirs. Commit these lambs to the Good Shepherd, who 
laid down his life for them. Bepose on his wisdom and 
his love. He knows the issue, and it will be well. X 
pray that they may both be spared to you for good, if it 
be his will. If not. He can and will support you, and^ 
heaven will be the dearer to you. 



254 WATFOBD. 

The loye of Him who gave his life for us ought to be 
» compensation for the unkindness of the whole world. , 

It is a world of changes; but there is One who changes 
not, and if the right sort of change is going on within us, 
we need not much care what changes are going on without 
us, for the last change to us will then be the best, **Who 
■hall change this vile Jbody," etc. 

As to feeling thankful — ^thankful to Ood, it is a great 
luxury, and, sad to say, a great attainment, but one that 
we ought daily to be striving after, by calling up to 
remembrance past benefits, and dwelling upon all the 
realities of the believer's portion in both worlds. Being 
thankful is a different thing from feeling thankful, which 
is delighting in thankfulness ; but the. former will lead 
to the latter. Let us cherish the conviction, and give 
expression to it in acknowledging God's mercies, and 
this will give birth to the feeling and emotion so beauti- 
fully expressed by the Fsabnist, " I love the Lord, be- 
cause He hath heard my voice and my supplications." 

The one occasion, already alluded to, when death 
entered under a roof at other times signally defended 
.from his attacks, was in the first week of the year 1828. 
Mrs. Gender's &vourite niece, a singularly lovely giri, 
had been staying with them for three months, with a 
rapidly diminishing hope of her restoration to health. 
Eor some weeks that fiBunt hope had been almost entirely 
extinguished, but the summons came at last, as it so 
often does, with a stunning suddenness. She was con- 
versing as usual, when in an instant she became insen- 
sible, and '' in an hour all was over." The circumstances 
of the event combined with the loss itself to make the 



•« 



SORROW. 255 

trial a very severe one. It was among those things 
which cannot be spoken of, after manj years have rolled 
by, without a saddened look and a subdued tone ; while 
to those on whom the bereavement fell most heavily, it 
was one of those chasms which no lapse of years can fill ; 
they open an abyss into the very centre of our being, and 
nothing but eternity can repair them. 

In the summer of the same year, the busy pen thus 
records its incessant labours : — 

XLIX. I would have replied to your letter of June 
11 immediately, had I not been so. hard pressed, having 
to get out sir sheets of the '* Traveller," beside the usual 
quantum for the EdecUe. . . . As to Yaughan's 
" Wiclif,"* if it is not everything that it might have 
been, it will perform a great setrice, by placing the great 
reformer's character in a more prominent light. How 
has Sharon Turner treated him ? As to the alterations 
he has made in the language, my advice would have been 
to modernize the eitations, so far as to make then^ intel- 
ligible to general readers, but in every case to give the 
original in notes or an appendix. J^o fault could then, 
I think, have been found, Wiclif requires translating 
almost as mxich as a foreign writer. Yaughan felt his 
difficulty, although he has not taken, perhaps, the best 
method of surmounting it. But he had to think of the 
usefulness and the sale of his book. 

... I have finished my history of India. Blacks 
I found, as you said, a mere military commentary, but 
very sensible ; and I have made use of him, together with 
Frinsep, Malcolm, and Grant Duff. Certainly, Lord 
Hastings was a fine fellow, notwithstanding all the mean* 

* Eirtt edition. 



256 ITATFOKD. 

mm of 1iJ9 private eharaeter, I have tnmed to all jour 
IndJim nrticlen in the £. R., as well as 31arah*0, and hare 
derired some amiKtanr^ from them. It is singular that 
in OUT little work should appear the first complete history 
of India that was erer written. 3Iill is acting rerj un- 
wisely in leaving his work unfinished; but I have found 
him very tedious in his long lawyer dissertations. His six 
volumes might have been easily compressed into four, 
without lessening their value ; and in £Act I have endea- 
voured to give the resuUs of all his " a/rgufyvng^^ with all 
his facts, corrected by other authorities. It has been ^ 
work of immense toil. 

Watford, Dec. 2, 1880. 

L. .... I had entirely given up the idea of re- 
ceiving any aiisistance from you this month, beyond the 
Articles received too late for the November number ; but 
I have been glad to use the small articles you sent. I 
must, however, turn over a new leaf, and, if I am obliged 
to write the whole Beview myself,* not expose myself to 
the ruinous and exhausting efiects of disappointment. 
If you can oblige me with any articles by the 16th of 
this month, I shall bo veri/ much obliged. If not, I must 
try what I can do, as both the sale of the work and my 
own health suffer by the (b*iving-off system. . . . 

I should have sent you the " Landscape Annual," but 
fts it related to Venice, the subject I had in hand, I was 
obliged to detain it. I had finished my article upon it 
when your remarks upon the plates reached me, and I 
cancelled all that I had said upon them that was not 
actually in print. I never like to give an opinion on 
these matters, not that ninety-nine readers out of a 
hundred would detect me in a blunder if I were to make 
on«i but because 1 have no confidence in my own judg- 
* A fimt which h« tctusUy perfomwd onoe^ if not motd than onoe. 



CRITICISM. 257 

ment. It is not often, however, that I find my opinions 
clashing with yours, which ought to make me think more 
highly of my own penetration. I am sometimes at a loss 
for technical expressions, which you bring in with an air 

of authority Front's "Falls of Terni" I think 

superior to Turner's in Hakewill. His view of Bologna, 
which you praise, is, I am assured by two artists who 
have been there, extremely faulty — ^indeed, a fedlure, being 
out of drawing and out of nature. This plate has cost 
me some trouble ; for as it happens, in the first place, to 
contradict the letterpress, and as, in the next place, 
almost every account of the dimensions of these towels 
differs — some making the higher tower 350, others 320, 
others 250 high — some asserting that it is three feet out 
of the perpendicular, others that it does not lean at aU, 
with endless other variations — ^it was of the more conse- 
quence to me to have a correct representation, and it is 
one of the few instances in which Prout has erred. 
Brockedon, with whom I dined at Duncan's and spent 
some hours next day, told me that he had pointed out to 
Prout the blunder. B. is reading my first volume of 
** Italy," to make corrections, which, if important, I shall 
notice in a list of errata. He is an exceedingly well- 
infiormed man, and has taken infinite pains with the 
whole subject of the Alps. He has been over the Viso, 
and taken drawings of it. 

LII There would be no difficulty in your earn- 
ing money enough to make you easy, provided your 
health serves you, and that you were among us in Lon- 
don. I know it is of little use saying this — ^perhaps it is 
only annoying. Your daughter and your library bind 
you to Newark, and, when it came to the point, you 
would not like to leave that old house. Near London 

8 



■^■^^ 



J 



268 WATFORD. 

too, you will say, your expenses will be greater. On the 
other hand, at Leicester you are buried ; you are too far 
off to run up to town often enough to rub off the rust ; 
you want the stimulus of good and varied society, and 
your health suffers from insufficient mental excitement. 
Am I right P I have my impossible moods, belieye it, as 
well as you ; but I can still less than you afford to be 
the gentleman, and I have been ridden with the spur. 
You are living below your capabilities in more respects 
than one. But perhaps you are not the less happy. I 
do not pretend that it is simply for your own sake that 
I wish circumstances allowed of your being a resident 
within the compass of the Cotirt Ghiide, I expect to 
meet Croly (who wants to know you), Allan Cunningham, 
Macculloch, Pringle, and " two or three more," on Tues- 
day, at Duncan's. I will promise you a knife and fork 
if you can be there. 

LIII. . . . What is the " Enthusiasm Controversy ?" 
You are not, I hope, a worldling — I mean, a reader of,, 
and contributor to " The Worlds I wiU be bound to say 
that had you reviewed the " Natural History of Enthu- 
siasm" in the E, B., you would have praised it as highly 

as I did I am quite serious when I say that there 

are few reviewers, I believe, who display more conscien* 
tious candour and kindness than you do in your writ- 
ten articles, although you may be cynical or satirical 
enough in the critical humour of your unbending moods. 
What you say of Sartorius is surely applicable, a fortiori, 
to Foster, so far as it is just. But you know the Sarto- 
rian style is really unaffected — ^I mean as natural to the 
writer as the plainest English ; and his thoughts, even 
when not new, are original in the sense of being elabo- 
rated by his own brain, not copied or stolen. I do not 



"NATURAL HISTORY OF ENTHUSIASM. 259 

> 

know how you have arrived at the secret of the auth6r- 
ship of the N. H. Holdsworth and Ball, as well as the 
author, will feel miich obliged by your not disclosing your 
suspicions. S., of Camberwell, who thought for some 
time the author was I. T., has now satisfied Mmself thsA, 
he was quite wrong. The only reason for secresy on the 
part of the author was the knowledge that his name 
would operate to the prejudice of the work, especially 
among his ,own people; just as my own name would 
operate among the same excellent body. The Dissenters 
have always had the reputation of never thinking too 
highly of any one of their own body, unless he be a 
popular declaimer ; and I have no reason for feeling gra- 
titude to them. My anonymous works have sold best. 
The wise folks stare a little, I believe, at my name on the 
title-page of the " Modem Traveller ;" and as that work 
does not solicit their patronage, they may condescend to 
think somewhat more highly of the author than they have 
done of the editor of the poor JE7. i2., or the author of 
" Nonconformity." Excuse aU this egotism. 

LIV I am not going to plague you with re- 
joinder, fully acquiescing in your conclusion, that you 
and I are " clever feUows." I admit that the style of the 
" Natural History" would identify its author if there 
were half a dozen persons besides ourselves capable of 
appreciating that sort of evidence. But there are not. 
Mrs. Conder, indeed, found out the author entirely from 
the style of the passages extracted, without a hint from 
me. But it was chiefly from the style of thought, not of 
expression. On the other hand, almost every one 
ascribes it to Douglas. Then again, as to being identi- 
fied by style, the review of " Acaster" in the JS, B. is by 
almost every one given to me, whereas I should imagine 



>»" ■ ^ "•— « ■■ ■ W ^ I I M^W W ^,>« W^« -^^W*— »»»»<»^—«~^^^.<—»P«^^«< « I I W ^ I 



260 WATFORD. 

nothing could be less like my style, if I have any. Of 
this I might doubt^ as all sorts of articles by different 
contributors have been supposed to be mine, and mine 
have been ascribed to various writers. I do not believe 
you could hang any one by his style, if you must find a 
jury of twelve competent men to agree in the verdict. As 
to your remarks on the Sartorian style, there is a Mend 
of mine who occasionally meets a question or position 
with the oracular response, " yes and no." Such is my 
reply, to save you the annoyance of argumentation. I 
think you in many respects a cleverer fellow than Sarto- 
rius. I think myself (to be honest) as clever as he on 
some points ; but I know no one who, in my judgment, 
has a more truly phUosophic cast of mind or reach of 
thought. His brain is (pardon the word) coative^ but he 
is as original a thinker as you will find in these times, 
and in my earlier days I was much indebted to in- 
tercourse with him for intellectual improvement and 
stimulus. 

P. N. Row, April 9, 1831. 

LV. ... By a very desperate effort I finished the 
MS. of " Italy," between twelve and one on the 29th, 
midnight ; and then had two days to get out more than 
iM^f the Eclectic, The last proofs of '' Italy" occupied 
|4 me the whole of G-ood Friday. It is now out, and here- 
with you receive a copy Such a job I do not wish 

to have again. It has not only fagged me, but half 
ruined me, and I must work very hard upon the jobs I 
have been obliged to postpone, in order to bring myself 

round 1 have no fault to find with Mr. D. He 

must sell 2500 copies, he says, before he pockets any- 
thing. K I could possibly have knocked up the thing, aa 
I hoped, in six or eight months, instead of its occupying 



HARD WORK AND SMALL PROFIT. 261 

the incessant labour of thirteen, I should have been suffi- 
ciently paid. 

To THE Eev. H. M. 

LVI. . . . The " Law of the Sabbath" was an episode. 
It cost me considerable pains, and has, I hope, done 
some service, although it has been very coldly and sus- 
piciously received by the Dissenters. The BaptiH Magct- 
zine has abused and misrepresented it. The Evcmgelical 
Magazine has praised it very cautiously. The Congrega- 
tional Magazine has hitherto said nothing about it. The 
World and the Record have pointedly refrained from 
noticing it. On the other hand, I have had some private 
expressions of satisfaction of a gratifying nature, of which 
yours is not the least valuable. ... I want to see 
you, and to have a long chat with^ you about your 
bishopric and other matters. Are you in possession of 
any facts and documents which would be available towards 
deciding the knotty point, at what precise point a church 
in the progress of decline loses its collective capacity, 
and becomes de facto extinct — so as, for instance, to cease 
to be entitled to an endowment ? K you can help me at 
all towards solving this enigma, pray write immediately. 
If not, let me hear at your convenience — ^the sooner the 
more welcome. 

The case referred to in the preceding extract was a 
-curious one ; and, if it be regarded as affording a prece- 
dent in reference to the usages and principles of Protest- 
ant Dissenters, an important one. It was one referred 
to the general body of Protestant Dissenting ministers 
of the three denominations by the trustees of the estates 
of the Sabbatarian Protestant Dissenters, in the year 
1831. The case submitted to the body states, that " the 



262 FATFORD. 

Sabbatarian churcbes bitberto existing in London were^ 
first, tbat assembling in Mill Yard, Goodman's Fields, 
formerly under tbe pastorsbip of tbe Eev. William Slater, 
wbo died in 1819, and since tben witbout a pastor; and, 
secondly, tbat assembling in Still's Alley, Devonsbire 
Square, under tbe pastorsbip of tbe Eev. Eobert Bum- 
side, and afterwards removed to tbe Welsb Cbapel in 
Eldon Street, Finsbury, under tbe pastorsbip of tbe Eev. 
J. B. Sbenstone, tbe present minister. During tbe later 
period of tbe ministry of tbe Eev. W. Slater, tbe cburcb 
in Mill Yard, wbicb bad, togetber witb tbe Sabbatarian 
interest generally, been long experiencing great decay, 
consisted of tbree male members (nepbews of tbe minis- 
ter) and seven female members, five of wbom were also 
of tbe family of Slater. For some years previous to tbe 
deatb of tbe Eev. W. Slater, tbe tbree male members 
discontinued tbe observance of tbe seventb day Sabbatb, 
and were in attendance on tbe worsbip of tbe Cburcb of 
England ; but one or two of tbem still continued to attend 
on tbe days of communion, in order to act as deacons 
in tbe office of tbe ordinance, down to tbe period of Mr. 
Slater's deatb." 

It is furtber stated, tbat on Mr. Slater's deatb tbe 
cbapel was sbut up, and fell into gradual decay, no 
attempt baving been made to secure a successor. Tbe 
property was at tbat time in Cbancery, and tbe suit did 
not terminate till 1826. New trustees were appointed 
by tbe Court to act witb tbe surviving trustee; and 
tbougb not tbemselves Dissenters, tbey endeavoured to 
carry out tbe trust. Tbey repaired tbe cbapel, advertised 
for a minister bolding Sabbatarian, Baptist, and Armenian 
sentiments ; and appointed, ad interim, tbe Eev. Tbomas 
Eussell, A.M., to officiate. Tbis state of tbings con- 
tinued until tbe year 1830, during wbicb time one member 



A CAUSE ECCLESIASTICAL. 263 

had withdrawn, and two died ; and of the remaining four, 
one had become confined to her bed by infirmity ; but, it 
is added, " three others (daughters of Mrs. W. Slater) 
were, on the 5th August, 1826, admitted as members by 
the unanimous suffrages of the five other members then 
assembled, and in the presence of Ifix, Eussell. The exist- 
ing number therefore, assuming the three last-mentioned 
to have been duly admitted, is seven females, of whom, 
from three to six have uniformly assembled at worship." 
Under these circumstances, the trustees considered 
'^ that, in the absence of any indications of revival, it was 
impossible to consider the remaiiling members of Mill 
Yard as constituting a church, or even the nucleus of a 
church." They therefore decided that the etd interim 
arrangement could no longer be continued, and resolved 
to offer the place of worship to the Eev. Mr. Shenstone, 
'' the only acting minister of the Sabbatarian p/ersuasion 
in London," and to his congregation. The seven ladies, 
however, asserted that they were a church, and that no 
one had a right to obtrude a minister on them contrary 
to their choice. They refused to elect Mr. Shenstone, and 
protested against the decision of the trustees. After 
considerable discussion, all parties united in the following 
agreement: — "We agree to give jtirisdiction to the 
general body of Dissenting ministers, meeting at Dr. 
Williams's Library in Bed-cross Street, to determine the 
question. Whether the eooisting members of Mill Yard 
Sabbatarian Jiieeting are or a/re not a chwrch, with the 
power of choosing a pastor ? and to join in all such arrange* 
ments as shall be expedient for the purpose of procuring 
that question to be properly submitted to the body, and 
obtaining their decision upon it, which decision is to be 
final." 

Mr. Conder was requested by the trustees to act as 



264 WATFORD. 

their advocate, the case haying been previously submitted 
to him for his private opinion. He at first refused, not 
from the slightest hesitation as to what appeared to him 
the only common-sense view of the question, but from 
the fear that he might be regarded as stepping out of his 
line, and that some peponal feeling against himself might 
prejudice the cause of his clients. Finding, however, 
that he was more likely to damage them by declining, he 
consented. The case was heard in May, 1831, at three 
several sittings, the Eev. Dr. Pye Smith occupying the 
chair. The Eev. Mr. Eussell appeared to maintain the 
existence and rights of the "church." The case was 
argued on the grounds of abstract principle, authority, 
and precedent. Mr. Slussell, on behalf of the protesters, 
spoke first. Mr. Conder's argument, in reply, occupied 
several hours, and the report of that part of it delivered 
on the second day of hearing fills 128 folios. He com- 
pleted his argument at the third day's sitting, and Mr. 
EusseU rejoined. The question involved was a knotty 
one. At what period in the downward progress of decay 
does an Independent Church cease to exist P Obviously, 
the question is one of no practical importance, except 
where endowments are concerned ; for where there is no 
end6wment, as soon as the congregation sinks to that 
ebb at which they can no longer sustain public worship, 
the society naturally dissolves itself. An endowment, 
however, causes the life to linger in the body ecclesias- 
tical with an amazing tenacity. Some ctirious illustrative 
facts were quoted on this occasion. " I know," said Mr. 
Conder, " a number of churches, so called, of the real 
validity of which I should entertain doubts. I heard the 
other day of a church, so called, of three women, existing, 
and an endowed church also. I happened to fall in with 
a reverend gentleman of the Baptist denomination, to 



WHEN DOES A CHURCH DIE? 265 

whom I put the question, 'How many sisters make a 
brotherhood?' and he immediately told me of this 
church ; and I said, * Do you call it a church ?' (for, ob- 
serve, this very minister was in the habit of going over 
to preach to them.) He shook his head. *No,' said 
he ; * a very odd sort of church :, certainly I could not.' 
Now this is a fact. I could mention the place. They 
keep themselves together for the sake of the endowment, 
and he goes over to them and preaches ; but he himself 
doubted whether they were a church in any proper sense 

of the word I knew another church consisting 

of one man, his wife, and his maid, who were in posses- 
sion of a considerable endowment. Now, will you in 
the face of the world say that these are precedents esta- 
blishing the nature of a Christian church, and that these 
abuses, which, if they were known, would excite general 
indignation, are the constituent principles of Indepen- 
dency?" 

The verdict of the assembled ministers, affc^r hearing 
the arguments on both sides, was, that ''the existing 
members of Mill Yard Meeting" did constitute "a 
church, with the power of choosing a pastor." The 
copy of their resolution, signed by Dr. Pye Smith, is 
dated June 2, 1831. 

During the same month, Mr.*Conder was called to 
part with his venerable father, whose singularly peaceftJ, 
though almost sudden removal, at the ripe old age of 
fourscore, has already been chronicled in the introductory 
chapter of this memoir. It was, in every sense of the 
word, a euthanasia, grief for which was swallowed up in 
thankfulness for so happy an ending of a prolonged life 
and Christian course, and in the 8iu*e and certain hope 
of a blessed meeting in the world of life. The event 
(with some other family bereavements) is referred to in 



266 WATFORD. 

some lines published in the '* Choir and Oratoiy/' under 
the title " Sacred to Memory." 

The following letter belongs to the beginning of the 
same year. It was addressed to a friend suffering under 
a complication of most distressing sorrows and anxieties ; 
and it is inserted, not without hope that it may be the 
means of consolation to some of the children of God in 
trouble, who may recognise here the language of one 
who had learned to " comfort others with the comfort 
wherewith he himself was comforted of God;" and may 
be reminded that no new thing has befallen them, but 
that they are treading the same path which so many 
have trodden before them to the land of promise and of 
peace* 

Watford, Jan. 28, 1831* 

LYII. I need not say how incessantly you have been 
in my thoughts ever since we parted. The difficulties 
and uncertainties of your situation and prospects are a 
subject of pain^ and perplexing consideration. But on 
this day I have been endeavouring to view them chiefly 
in reference to spiritual things ; and I will set down what 
has occurred to me, praying that the Holy Spirit will 
vouchsafe to render these considerations useful and con* 
solatory to your heart. 

What a striking declaration is that of our Lord — 
'' If thy hand offend thee (or rather cause thee to offend), 
cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, 
than, having two hands, to be cast into hell," Mark ix. 43. 
Some are called to bear literal maiming of the body by 
disease ; some to part with what seems as dear and neces* 
sary as an eye or as a right hand; some to bear the 
spoiling of their goods. This is no new thing in the 
history of God's children. But what then ? " Think it 
not strange," says St. Peter, " concerning the fiery trial 



TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION. 267 

wMch is to try you, as though some strange thing hap- 
pened unto you." But think of those words, " better to 
enter into life maimed " — ^life everlasting, which will make 
infinite amends for all. 

All, and more than all, that you have been called to 
put up with and to suffer, you might have been caUed to 
endure with hundreds of Christ's people in times of war, 
or times of religious persecution. Th'bse of whom the 
world was not worthy have wandered in deserts and 
mountains, in dens and caves, clothed with goat-skins 
and the meanest apparel, destitute, afflicted, tormented. 
Do not imagine that because they suffered for the sake 
of religion or in the cause of Christ, their sufferings 
were less hard to be borne. The same grace is needful 
and sufficient for you that upheld them. 

I have, no doubt, my dear , that you are one of 

the sheep of Christ, whom He will never suffer to perish ; 
one of G-od's children, whom He wiU chaaten for your 
profit, that you maybe partakers of his holiness, and when 
patience has had its jperfect work, take to his own bosom. 
But you must allow HiTn to judge of the proper heat of 
the fire that is to bum up the dross and refine the gold, 
and of the length the process requires. Tou have prayed, 
I know, sincerely for submission to his will; but re- 
member Newton's beautiful hymn, " I asked the Lord," 

«tc. 

" 'Twos He who taught me thus to pray, 
And He, I trust, has answered prayer ; 
But it has been in such a way 
Aa ahnost drove me to despair. 

" Lord, why is this ? I trembling cried ; 
Wilt Thou pursue thy worm to death ? 
'Tis in this way, the Lord repHed, 
I answer prayer for grace and fedth. 



268 WATFORD. 

" These Twioiis trials I employ 

From leif snd pride to set thee finee ; 
And break thj schemes of eaithl j joy. 
That thou ma/st seek thine all in Me /" 

To this you will be conscious that joa are not yet 
bronght. Tour schemes of earthly joj^ are indeed broken ; 
broken, I fear, for ever. But will you then say, Am I to 
look for nothing but misery here? Ear from it; yon 
may be happier yet than yon have ever been, but it must 
be in God's way, not in your own. Those who were 
called to hate — that is, to forsake or giTe up — ^for con- 
science sake, husband, or wife, or children, or parents, or 
house, or lands, were yet promised a hundredfold in this 
world. Do you doubt Gk>d*s power to make you happy ? 
You do so, if you think you can be happy only by haying 
the things on which your heart is fixed — ^your home com- 
forts. God must be and will be your all, and He is 
worth the sacrifice of all. If it be his will that yon 
should be meanly clad, that your lore of neatness and 
your constitutional particularities, however innocent they 
may seem, should all be rooted out and cut off, this will 
be no proof that Gt)d does not Ioto you. Sometimes 
giving up little things is as painM a sacrifice, or more 
painful, than giving up great ones. But true love and 
true resignation are shown by parting with what we love 
most, great or small. Perhaps it is harder to seem poor 
than to be poor. We are not laid low till the world 
knows it. We may feel a change of dress more than a 
change of circumstances. But the Great Physician, in 
order to heal, must probe the sore places of the mind. 
The child says. Touch me anywhere else ; but the surgeon 
knows that the tender part is the diseased part. So it 
is. Self, when driven out of some parts, may yet lurk in 
these unsuspected comers. 



CONSOLATION. 269 

That your 'mind and character have already been 
greatly strengthened and matured by what you have 
suffered, is apparent to your friends ; but I entertain the 
consoling assurance that you will come out brighter yet. 
In order to this, you must fix your mind on great thmgSy 
and learn to overlook and despise subordinate ones. Live 
in and for your children. Be willing to live for them, 
not as idols, but as Christ's charge committed to you. 
They may yet repay you with happiness. But, above 
all, let this be your first desire (Phil. i. 2, 3), that Christ 
may be magnified in your body, whether it be by life or 
by death. 

. . . Only believe that God loves you, that Christ 
and heaven are yours, and give up everything, without re- 
serve, to his disposal, and He will do for you exceedingly 
abundantly above all you can ask or think. Tou know 
not what you are capable of, God assisting and strength- 
ening you ; and even should health or flesh, as well as 
heart, fail in the attempt to glorify Him, by acting the 
difficult part to which you ar6 called. He will be the 
strength of your heart and your portion for ever. To 
Him unit« with me in ascribing glory and praise for ever 
and ever. 



CHAPTEE yn. 

POLITICS AND THEOXOOT. 

The reform agitation, wHch swept like a tempest over 
this coimtiy, about the end of the third decade of the 
present century, lashed into fury by the stubborn oppo- 
sition of the Tory peers, until the very foundations of 
society trembled, compelled religious and thoughtful 
men earnestly to turn their thoughts to politics. While 
Churchmen foreboded with dismay an invasion of schism 
and infidelity, and the downfall of their Establishment, 
Dissenters saw a new future opening before them. The 
repeal of the Corporation Test Act in 1828, and the 
emancipation of the Eoman Catholics in 1829, had broken 
down the two strongest bulwarks of the political supre- 
macy of the Church of England. The aim of the reform 
movement was to destroy that aristocratic monopoly of 
the representation which virtually constituted a third. 
That agitation had not ostensibly any religious character 
or object. But, as it aimed to give political power to 
the unrepresented mass of the middle classes, in which 
the strength of Nonconformity has always lain, it was 
obvious that Dissenters, already relieved from their 
heaviest disabilities, and now invested with a greatly 
increased share of political influence, might hope to make 
their great principles felt in the country in a degree 
previously impossible. The great body of Protestant 
Nonconformists had especial reason to join heartily in 



THE KEFORM MOVEMENT. 271 

tliat peal of triumpliant joy wliich ning- through England 
when Lord Grrey's Eeform Bill became law. Perhaps, 
indeed, there were but few who had sagacity to perceive 
how great was the gain. The fundamental principle was 
conceded — ^impossible to be thenceforth withdrawn from 
the British constitution — ^that the House of Commons 
is intended to represent the people, ought to represent 
the people, and, if necessary, must be altered, so that it 
shall represent the people. It follows, that whatever 
principles and opinions take wide and firm hold of the 
nation, ought to have place and voice in the legislature. 
This principle, once irrevocably conceded, lays the 
axe to the root of Church control over the State, or 
Church tyranny through the State, — ^that is to say, in the 
present condition of the English mind ; and plants the 
germs, which must sooner or later bear fruit, of perfect 
religious liberty. Progress, 4t is true, has been slow, 
since, after five-and-twenty years, the question of church- 
rates has yet to be discussed in a new Parliament, and 
the Voluntary party in the House of Commons is but in 
process of formation. But it is a progress which permits 
nulla vestigia retrorsum, Nonconformity has become a 
power, a growing power, in the State, in the elections, in 
the legislature, in ministerial poUcy, in the formation of 
colonial constitutions, and the government of vast foreign 
provinces ; it can never be put back again into the posi- 
tion which it occupied previous to the year '32. 

A profound conviction of the inseparable connection 
between politics and religion was the governing idea in 
Mr. Conder's mind, in all his labours of a political cha- 
racter. He accepted and continued the editorship of a 
newspaper, and engaged in various political schemes, 
labours, and agitations, in exactly the spirit in which, 
had the path been open, he would have engaged in the 



272 POLITICS AND THEOLOGY. 

Cfiristian ministry, and in which, indeed, his occasional 
pulpit labours were carried on. He believed thltt it was 
the work to which he was called by God. Few things 
surprised or grieved him more than the frequent blind, 
inattention of religious men to the dealings of God's 
providence in the government of nations, and the world. 
Politics was not the ^eld in which his tastes could be 
most fully gratified, or in which his talents most fitted 
him to excel. Probably there were times in which he 
longed to escape from that turbid and unwholesome 
atmosphere to some more pure and calm region of intel- 
lectual activity ; and sighed to think how the labour of 
toilsome hours was scanned by careless eyes, in scarcely 
as many minutes, and then flung aside and forgotten. 
Nor had he the consolation of feeling that he was enrich- 
ing himself, in a pecuniary sense, by the labours in which 
the pith and strength of the last three-and-twenty years 
of his life were consumed. But he had the satisfaction 
of knowing that, however much of his labour might be 
waste, he was exerting an influence on many minds, not 
otherwise within his reach, in favour of principles of 
whose truth and value, and ultimate triumph, he never 
had the shadow of a doubt. So he worked on, according to 
the ability which God gave him, and in the post to which 
he believed that God had called him, serving his gene- 
ration and the church of Christ, hopefully assured that 
the cause of tru)ih and freedom must advance, whether 
his own share in advancing it were great or small, and 
not greatly surprised, though sometimes a little dis- 
heartened and saddened, by finding that gratitude to 
public servants is not the most distinguishing feature of 
public bodies (ecclesiastical any more than civil), and 
that they who work for God's wages must not expect 
them to be paid in the world's coin. 



THE "PATRIOT NEWSPAPEE. 273 

The Patriot newspaper was started as a weekly jour- 
nal in the year in which the Reform Bill passed into 
law (1832). The prospectus stated that it would be 
"devoted to the maintenance of the great principles 
cherished by Evangelical Nonconformists," and that its 
tone and spirit would be " constitutional but independent, 
candid but decided, and liberal though firm." The profits 
were to be applied, under the direction of twelve trustees 
of difierent denominations, " to literary and benevolent 
objects connected with Dissenters in Great Britain and 
Ireland." - A large number of leading ministers and lay- 
men, of the two Congregational denominations, appended 
their names to a recommendation, calling on "the Mends 
of sound political knowledge, of evangelical sentiments, 
and religious liberty," to support the new enterprise. 
The publication commenced in February. The gentle- 
man who edited it for some months having resigned, Mr. 
Conder was requested to undertake the editorship, which, 
after anxious and serious deliberation, he did, beginning 
his labours with the new year. The circulation at that 
time was 1587. By the end of the second year of his 
editorship, the circulation had risen to 2400, to which 
point, after having receded about 300, it was again raised 
in the year 1839, when the Christian Advocate was in- 
corporated with it, and the paper enlarged. Subsequent 
enlargements took place, and the publication was changed 
from once to twice a week. Mr. Conder retained the 
editorship until the close of his Hfe. Upon the altera- 
tion of the stamp duties, when newspaper proprietors 
were seized with a panic fear of the anticipated invasion 
of innumerable penny journals, it was deemed politic to 
publish the paper thrice a week. There can be little 
doubt that the increased fatigue and anxiety thus in- 
curred, coming at a time when habits are not easily 

T 



274 EDITORSHIP. 

broken, and when his health had been somewhat im- 
paired by other causes, and his once indefatigable powers 
of literary toil were beginning to feel the touch of time, 
contributed effectively to shorten his life. 

Mr. Gender's acceptance of the editorship, though it 
necessitated a weekly, and afterwards a bi-weekly yisit 
to London, did not prevent his continuing to reside at 
Watford for between six and seven years longer. In 
the year 1837, Watford was brought practically much 
nearer London, and his journeys rendered inuch less 
inconvenient, by the opening of the Birmingham railway 
as far as Boxmoor. Still, the ties which bound him to 
London were gradually strengthening. The constant 
journeys involved both expense and discomfort. The 
loss of several valued and intimate j&iends, whose society 
formed a strong tie to the neighbourhood, loosened the 
attachment of Mr. and Mrs. Conder to Watford ; and as 
the children began to grow up, and one by one were 
quitting home, one of tl^e strongest reasons for preferring 
a country residence passed away. Li fine, in the sum- 
mer of 1839, Mr. Conder once more returned to the 
metropolis, and resided in one or other of its suburbs 
until the close of his life. 

Watford, Noyember 3, 1832. 
LYIII. . . . Apropos of the Fatriot, what do you 
think of it ? Tou in the singular, yourself, and you in 
the plural, the Dissenting clergy of Essex. I have my 
reasons for making the inquiry. . . . And touching 
the Eclectic, how is it that the Essex ministers, if I am 
correctly informed, are for the most part so (willingly?) 
ignorant of the principles of the Bemew, as to avow 
tilieir persuasion that it is the advocate of an altered 
system of Episcopacy in the Church of England, rather 



THE ^^ ECLECTIC." 275 

than of the broad principles of religious liberty, and that 
thereby the interests of Dissent are compromised ? How 
is it that the review of " Acaster," three years ago, should 
have produced so general an impression, not, as I imagine, 
upon the readers of the Eclectic, but upon the larger 
number, who I find are not readers, and who are there- 
fore credulous to receive, and not over-scrupulous to 
propagate the false impression ? I am advised to take 
some strong steps to combat this persuasion; and the 
only effectual way is, by getting people to read the 
Bemew. ... I should wish the subject of the Review 
— I mean its general merit and importance — ^to be fairly 
brought before your county association, and canvassed, 
that I may know who are its friends and who its enemies, 
who are moderates among you, and who ultras. My 
own creed, touching Dissent, or rather the duties of 
Dissenters, will be found at large in the number for 
February last ; to which I have little to add. I do not 
conceal, that as I detested the World newspaper, so I 
eschew the Ecclesiastical Society and all its works, and 
glory ia having induced Yaughan and some others to 
retire from it. If this is to be vile in the eyes of Essex 
Dissenters, I will be yet more vile. 

LIX. . . . Tou speak of " certain articles " 
in the plural. I am not aware of what you allude to. 
It was the review of " Acaster" that is said to have done 
the mischief, and that made your " plain honest " gospel 
men quarrel with a Eeview of thirty years' standing for 
a single article, which they happened to be displeased 
with, chiefly because the World newspaper told them 
they ought to be. This is the simple fact. That article 
now would be seen in another light, as was admitted to 
me by an eminent minister who took up the common 



276 EDITORSHIP. 

prejudice at the time. The Dissenters wi/nced, and it 
showed that they were unsound. They were neither up- 
braided nor betrayed in that article ; but they showed 
the intolerance of Papists at being told a little plain 
truth. Could I have foreseen the strong effect, policy, 
but policy only, might have led me to suppress the 
article. 

Febnuuy 6, 1885. 

LX It was not without great reluctance 

that I consented to undertake thl3 editorship [of the 
Fatriot\ upon representations and promises which proved 
deceptive. I will not fill my sheet with telling you the 
vexation and disappointments which, during eighteen 
months, I was made to suffer in connection with my 
office. Tou would not have held it six months ; and I 
was restrained from throwing it up, several times, only 
by urgent advice, and by knowing that the paper would 
fall into bad hands. Things are now going on better, 
the paper having risen 900 in the last twelve months ; 
but the whole labour rests upon me, with a most inade- 
quate remuneration Had it not been for extra 

earnings, independent both of the Review and the paper, I 
should have been in great difficulties. My '^ Dictionary 
of Geography" proved a ruinous job. At the rate of 
labour and time which it cost me, it should have brought 
me £750. Tegg paid me £250 (£50 over the stipulated 
sum), all the work would well bear. As I had under- 
taken it simply as a paste-and-scissors job, hoping to 
earn my money easily, this was a serious and indeed dis- 
tressing disappointment, and I have not got over it. It 
was tantamount to a loss of £400 or £500. Last year my 
earnings doubled those of the preceding year, but still 
they have not brought me quite round. Excuse my enter- 



AUTHORSHIP. 277 

iiig into these egotistic details. I have such infinity cause 
for thankfitlness, that I am ashamed to seem to use the 
language of murmuring. How hard I have worked I 
leave you to judge. Besides a weekly newspaper and a 
monthly journal resting chiefly on my shoulders, I have, 
in the last two years, finished and printed my " Geogra- 
phical Dictionary," and put forth " Wages or the Whip," 
" Letter to the King," " Introduction to Dwight's Ar- 
menia," " New Translation of the Epistle to the He- 
brews,"* new edition of" Thomas Johnson's Eeasons for 
Dissent," with new dialogue, Itinerary to second edition 
of " Italy," and " Evangelical Almanack." Some of these 
are trifling jobs, but aU have taken time. Besides these, 
my "Analytical View of allEeligions" has advanced to the 
end of the fourth chapter ; and I have some other irons 
in the Are. It is not from choice that I have engaged in 
these multifarious labours, but, with one exception, " to 
order," and for pay. 

* The only work in which I plead guilty to supererogatoiy 
labour, for my own satis&ction, at a certain pecuniary loss. 

Watford, June 4, 1835. 
LXI. My deab Fbibi^d, — ^It was in my heart to reply, 
without delay, to your affectionate and gratifying letter ; 
but, lo ! two months have elapsed without my being able 
to secure a half hour in which I could seize one of those 
breathing intervals you speak of. ... . Last autumn, 
Mrs. Conder and two of our boys spent some months, in 
Yorkshire and Derbyshire, and I joined them for a week 
or two. We had not left home together, with the exception 
of short visits to London and Homerton, for seven years ! 
Mrs. Conder is bound to home by responsibilities and 
duties which you can well appreciate ; and I live here at 
the end of a chain fifteen miles long, which ever and anon 



278 • EDITORSHIP. 

is pulled in, and drags me to London, and prevents my 
escaping to a further distance, unless by special manage- 
ment I obtain, as last year, a brief holiday ; and even 
then I carry my yoke with me in the necessity of going 
on with my literary and political tasks. But of this, 
when I can view my bounds, my times, and my tasks, as 
fixed by the Great Master, and reflect upon the many 
mercies which distinguish my lot, and cheer my labours, 
and consider how my health has been sustained under 
them, I dare not complain. Indeed, but for anxieties 
which have formed the needs be discipline of my life, the 
salutary alloy of ^reat lUssings, I should be well recon- 
ciled to any toils, in the hope that they were not alto- 
gether unavailing and fruitless ; though sometimes, to a 
great extent, thankless and distasteful. 

Watford, January 7, 1887. 
LXII. My deab Sib, — Had not my abdication been 
at last so suddenly determined, you should not have re- 
ceived the intelligence from any one but myself. I have, 
as you are aware, long groaned under the burden of my 
editorial honours and responsibilities, not feeling able to 
manage the Eclectic and the Patriot, without being on the 
constant stretch of anxiety and exertion, and yet being 
alike unable and unwilling to throw up either. Different 
plans and projects have been, from time to time, suggested 
and canvassed ; but this is the first offer that I could listen 
to. Mr. Price being laid aside from the ministry, wishes 
to employ himself at once usefully and beneficially ; and 
he has embarked his property in the adventure of raas- 
ing the sale of the Eclectic, so as to make it, what it 
has long ceased to be, a source of profit to the proprietor. 
. . . You will easily suppose that, on closing the 
labours of twenty-three years as editor, I have had feel- 



PARTING WITH THE " JICLECTIC." 279 

ings in which some regret is mingled. . . . But I feel 
quite satisfied that I have consulted my health and my 
interests in this step ; and as the Beview will undergo 
no change of character or principle, I shall have much 
satisfaction in seeing it prosper, as I trust, for Price's 
sake, it will do. He has no easy task before him. 

... I have preached of late, once or more almost 

every Sunday, owing to Mr. Hall's indisposition and 

^other calls, and have much pleasure in the work, although 

I have not lost the power of hearing with pleasure. But 

I should shrink from any charge, 

Watford, Febnmry 13, 1837. 

LXin. My beak Feiend, — I was beginning to won- 
der that we did not hear from you ; and you may have 
expected to receive your copy of the " Congregational 
Hymn Book," and been waiting to acknowledge it. Have 
patience. The Committee have ordered, some months 
since, that each of the contributors named in the preface 
should have a copy of the large edition, handsomely 
bound ; and, in a few months more, the copies will be 
ready, and you shall have one. But you have seen it, and 
I am glad to infer from your kind expressions that it 
commends itself to you on examination. About 20,000 
are sold, and they have hitherto not been able to print 
the editions fast enough. I am well persuaded that 
the longer it is used, the more it will be valued. I 
am now, at intervals, revising Dr. Watts', with a view 
to the preparation of an arranged edition of all that is 
usable, , , . 

My disposing of the Eclectic to Dr. Price was a very 
sudden thing ; but you are aware that I had long groaned 
under my plural editqrship, and the matter seemed alto- 
gether providential, both in itself and in the time. I 



280 EELIGION AND POLITICS. 

have engaged to be a regular contributor, and the article 
on the Congregational and Baptist Unions, in the 
February number, you have perhaps detected to be mine. 
I took great pains with it. You can appreciate my 
Patriotic toils. They are more distasteful and uncon- 
genial to me than theological and literary labours, but 
they are at this juncture more important, and less thank- 
lessly received by the public. I regard myself as called 
to the post, and your words are very cheering to me. 
It w " a sad strife, and yet a noble cause." And I only 
wish that Dissenters would not mistake sel£sh supine- 
ness for spirituality, and worldliness for catholic liberality. 
But the meetings of the week before last were really 
grand and imposing assemblies;* and they will teU power- 
fully upon the country. What we want, next to more of 
the vital spirit from the Head, is organization, ecclesias- 
tical and political. I look to the Union to promote the 
former, and ix) the Patriot, and this Church-rate abolition 
agitation, to create the latter. 

. . . I have thought much of the words, 2 Chron. 
zxix. 36, as applicable both to public changes and to one's 
private affairs, " the thing was done suddenly," for " God 
had prepared the people." I preached on New Year's 
Day evening from verse 17. Next Lord's Day I am to 
preach (D.V.) for Mr. Hall, and I intend to take 1 Cor. 
ix. 14. As Mr. W. Clayton is to preach for the Essex 
Benevolent Society in the evening, I shall have a fair 
occasion for speaking my mind ; and I should have no 
objection to address a few words on the same subject to 

* A great meeting of delegateB, from all parts of England, Wales, 
and Scotland, which at the time it was thought would "giye the 
death-blow to Church-rates." Mr. Conder regarded it as ** the most 
eifectiye public meeting he erer attended, and unalloyed by a single 
fauxpcu** 



SUNDAY THOUGHTS. 281 

certaiii other congregations. K the author of " Spiritual 
Despotism/' instead of attacking and inveighing against 
the Voluntary principle, had directed his efforts to ex- 
posing the causes of its comparative inefficiency, where 
Scriptural motives are overlaid by the mercantile spirit 
of English society, he would have rendered good service 
to the churches of Christ. 

To HIS Son, at College. 

W. F. H., Sunday, September 9, 1838. 

LXIV. OuB DEAB E , — ^Tou will have felt 

assured that you could not be absent from our thoughts, 
for many moments together of this day. We have 
missed you, I need not say, at every meal and at every 
service. We have conjectured that you would be per- 
haps dining at Mr. James's, and shall be anxious to hear 
how your first Sunday at Birmingham has passed. I 
trust that it has passed not unpleasantly nor unpro- 
fitably ! But upon these days, I doubt not, you wiU more 
especially feel being separated from us, as we do from 
you. We now seem to be a very Httle family ; but 

C is already beginning to talk about Christmas, 

with pleased anticipation. I have been preaching for 
Mr. Femey to-day (in the morning), from the Apostle's 
sublime and comprehensive prayer, Eph. iii. This is 
what we are to ask for ourselves, and for those we love. 
How little is it understood that love is the true wisdom, 
for it is only by love that we can know what is the 
highest object of knowledge, the perfection that Gfcod is. 
I remarked on verse 19, that as a parent only can know 
or understand the love of a parent, although a child who 
loves his parents may, in some measure, understand their 
love to him, so Christ only can fiilly know the love of 



282 SCEIPTUEAL PIETY. 

Deity — ^his own love, which is that of Deity ; and to say 

that it transcends knowledge, that it is infinite, implies 

that He is G-od. I have since recollected that Charles 

Wesley has strikingly expressed this idea in one of his 

hymns, beginning, " O Love Divine, how sweet thou 

art!"— 

" God only knows the love of God." 

I did not insert the hymn in our collection, because it is 
unsuitable for congregational use ; and like many other 
beautiful hymns of almost impassioned devotion, by the 
same author, it savours too much of the mystic school 
of piety, which is not the Pauline. There is nothing 
monastic, feminine, or mawkish, in the fervent devotion 
of the Apostle to his Master and Lord. The atmosphere 
he lived in was not that of a cave or a cell, but of the 
open air. There was no false excitement about it, and 
yet it was intense, and carried him through martyrdom 
Now the devotion of the Eomish mystic, from which 
that of Wesley and Zinzendorf was borrowed as regards 
its style, is not of this masculine fibre, of this daylight 
character. Li turning from the inspired writings of 
Paul and John to such hymns and devotional writings, 
you feel that you are passing into another region and 
temperature. At the same time, when one is cold, and 
cannot have sunshine, artificial warmth may be both 
pleasant and salutary; and a devout person may envy 
the feelings which inspired many of these compositions, 
with all their defects, and catch from them a genial 
glow. 

LXV You will find it advantageous to have 

at least two English works in reading at one time ; first, 
because you will find yourself more disposed to pursue one 
course of reading at one time, and another at another, and 



HINTS ON READING. 283 

by having a choice provided, you may escape the tempta- 
tion to desultory reading, and yet have the benefit of 
humouring your mind ; and, secondly, it is best not to 
pursue any subject so long at a time as to weary the 
attention, and you wiU find a change serve as rest, like 
shifting a posture. When the mind has stood upon one 
leg too long, change it for the other. Besides, the power 
of transferring attention, and returning to the point at 
which you left off", is a valuable acquisition. By thismeans, 
Southey has been enabled to carry on writing several 
works at once, never tiring himself, and improving frag- 
ments of time, which many throw away. You will find 
it useful to register your reading, and on completing a 
work, make a brief note of the impression it has left. 

Watford, April 20 [1889]. 
LXYI. I met Mr. Kirk at dinner yesterday afternoon, 
and had the pleasure ... of hearing a little about the 
meetings, which Mr. Kirk speaks of as some of the most 
interesting he ever attended.* I bless God for them, 
and that you had the opportunity of attending them. . . 
• We want to hear all possible particulars about F — , and 
whether we are to hope to see him here for a peep, before 
we quit this most gay, hospitable, sociable, refijied, en- 
lightened Watford; from which, nevertheless, as the 
scene of your happy childhood, and of so much out-door 
and in-door happiness, it has taken a good deal of vex- 
ation to unloose and wean us. But now F — and you are 
away, it is no longer the same Watford ; and my being 
of necessity so much in town makes it to dear mamma a 

* Some special religious services held at Birmingham, when the 
Bev. E. N. Kirk was in this country ; which were characterised by 
an unusual earnestness of devout fueling, and followed by strildng 
results. 



284 RELIGIOUS FREEDOM SOCIETY. 

dreary seclusion. Else, as a place, one could be content 
with it. I had hoped before this to be able to tell you 
where we next look to pitch our tent, but it is not yet 
decided — that is, the decision of Him who fixes the 
bounds of our habitation is not yet known to us, but we 
are looking at every turn for the finger-post. Perhaps 
my next letter will inform you ; but we are here, at all 
events, till the half-quarter, and probably till Midsummer. 
This is mere chit-chat, but I find myself scarcely 
equal to-day, after the fatigues of the week, to anything 
else. You will see that I assisted, on Wednesday, in 
forming a new Anti-Slavery Society, for promoting the 
abolition of the slave trade and slavery throughout the 
world, in which the older societies will merge. The 
B. F. S. continues to progress ; of course, it takes up a 
great deal of my time. Our general meeting is fixed for 
the 16th of May, and we are to have a public dinner of 
its friends. You will have noticed the unexpected death 
of good Mr. Hall, of Chesham, after a short but severe 
iUness. He died as he lived, a consistent, faithful, simple- 
hearted, exemplary servant of Christ, and has left at 
Chesham a good name behind. < 

The initials in the last paragraph refer to the '^ Beli- 
gious Freedom Society," the plan of which originated with 
Mr. Conder, and upon the establishment and working of 
which he bestowed a very large amount of labour and 
time. The idea was, the formation of ^' a general union 
for the promotion of religious equality." The object 
designed was to remedy what Mr. Conder deemed one 
of the greatest deficiencies and sources of weakness in the 
Dissenting body — ^the lack of organization for the main- 
tenance and advancement of their distinctive principles. 
The ^'fundamental resolutions" were the three foUow- 



ITS PEINCIPLES. 285 

ing : — " 1. T&at it is the paramount duty, and therefore 
the unalienable right, of every man to worship his 
Creator and Bedeemer according to his religious con- 
victions of the Divine will, as expressed in the Holy 
Scriptures, the only authoritative rule of faith. — 2. That 
to compel any one to contribute to the support of reli- 
gious rites of which he disapproves, or of the ministers of 
a church from which he dissents, is manifestly unjust, 
and at variance with the spirit and principles of Christi- 
anity. — 3. That State Establishments, by which any 
particular church or sect is selected as the object of 
political favour and patronage, and its clergy are invested 
with exclusive rights and secular pre-eminence, involve 
a violation of equity towards other denominations, create 
serious impediments to the propagation of the G-ospel, 
render the religious union of Protestants impracticable, 
and are the occasion of inevitable social discord." 

Based on these general principles, the Society was 
intended to furnish, by means of a Central Committee, 
Local Committees, and a Yearly Meeting of Deputies, a 
medium of communication and co-operation for the 
Mends of religious liberty throughout the empire ; and 
by watching the progress of legislation in reference to 
the rights of conscience, and procuring the introduction 
of requisite parliamentary measures, by collecting, re- 
cording, and diffusing information, by affording legal aid 
and advice, and by promoting the return of suitable re- 
presentatives to the House of Commons, to advance the 
cause of freedom of conscience, both at home and abroad. 
It was not an exclusively Dissenting organization, but 
was designed to unite the friends of religious liberty in 
all Protestant communions ; and a liberal Churchman waa 
elected chairman. On this ground, the new Society sus- 
tained some coarse abuse from parties who were unable 



286 "CONGREGATIONAL HYMN-BOOK." 

to separate the cause of religious freedom from their own 
peculiar yiews, and who mistook sectarian bitterness for 
fidelity to truth. In other quarters it was welcomed 
with considerable cordiality, and several important pro- 
Tincial branches were formed. But in the end the his- 
toTj of the Eeligious Freedom Society furnished a fresh 
proof that schemes of organization, however well planned 
and appropriate, cannot produce organic action. The 
very defect which it was hoped to remedy had its causes 
too deep — causes which it would be out of place to dis- 
cuss here — ^to be reached by such means. The tendency 
to organize, when once it is called into energetic exist- 
ence by common passions and objects, will create its own 
forms ; but the forms will not create the tendency. The 
Eeligious Freedom Society was dissolved in the year 
1843. 

In the year 1836 the " Congregational Hymn Book " 
was published. It originated in a resolution of the 
Congregational Union, passed in May, 1833, and was 
prepared under the authority and supervision of a com- 
mittee ; but the main labour of the work devolved upon 
the editor. The task of selecting for every hymn an 
appropriate text of Scripture, though cheerfully under- 
taken as a labour of love, entailed a great additional 
expenditure of time, care, and pains. The views with 
which Mr. Conder carried through this important task 
are sufficiently indicated in the preface to the Hymn-book. 

In the following year (1837) Mr. Conder published 
a second volume of poems, under the title of '^ The Choir 
and the Oratory, or Praise and Prayer." This title was 
" intended to express the twofold view with which the 
poems " were '^ composed, some being designed for the 
use of the choir or congregation, others for the devotional 
retirement of the oratory." 



. POEMS. 287 

" The greater part of the volume consists of pieces 
written with no immediate view to publication. The 
lyrical form given, with a few exceptions, to the poetical 
translations of Psalms, wiU show that in these composi- 
tions my object has been altogether different from that 
of the authors of most of our metrical versions, which 
have aimed at accommodating the Psalms to Christian 
worship. Por many years 'the study of the Book of 
Psalms has occupied such attention as I could give to it, 
under the cherished conviction that it might be found 
practicable to exhibit the poetry of the Hebrew Scrip- 
tures in the rich and varied measures of English versi- 
fication, without compromising either the fidelity of a 
chaste translation, or the simplicity and majesty of the 
original. . . . Can anything be more improper than to 
employ the same metrical modes in attempting to adapt 
to the genius of English poetry an elegiac complaint, an 
ode of triumph, a choral hallelujah, and an acrostic of 
axioms ? " Paradise Lost " could not have been com- 
posed in heroic couplets ; and how much of the charm of 
the " Faery Queen " lies in the magnificent stanza ! But 
by translators metre has been apparently regarded as 
altogether arbitrary and inexpressive, or as a mere method 
of adapting words to a melody. Thus we find didactic 
psalms rendered in lyrical metres, and the sublimest odes 
given in an unbroken series of iambic couplets, the nar- 
rative measure of G-ay and Scott. ... I am aware that 
by these remarks I may seem to challenge criticism to 
my own attempts to do better justice to the structure 
and poetic spirit of these wonderful compositions. I 
can only say that I have bestowed upon them the utmost 
thought and skiU that I could command, yet I am very 
far from indulging a^ sanguine expectation that they will 
please or interest general readers." 



288 VIEW OF ALL RELIGIONS. 

Such of the yeraons of the FsalmB, both in this 
Yolume and in the " Star in the East," as partake of the 
character of hymns, are included in the small volume of 
"Psalms, Hymns, and Meditations," published subse- 
quently to the author's death ; but not those which are 
simply poetical translations, made on the principles indi- 
cated in the preceding extract. 

In the year previous to his quitting Watford, Mr. 
Conder published a w^ork on which he had been engaged, 
at intervals, during several years — a comprehensive trea- 
tise on the religions of the world.* These are classified 
with reference to the revelations, real or supposed, on 
which they are based. Eegarding Judaism as an unde- 
veloped Christianity, the religions at present prevailing 
are arranged under the following heads : — 

1. The Eeligion of the Bible. 

2. The Eeligion of the Koran. 

8. The Eeligion of the Zendavesta. 

4. The Eeligion of the Yedas and Puranas. 

5. The Eeligion of the Sacred Books of Buddhism. 

6. Illiterate Superstitions. 

The closing paragraph of the preface to this work 
thus expresses the principles on which it is composed : — 

" The most difficult, or at least the most delicate, part 
of my task has been to preserve that impartiality which 
may reasonably be looked for in an account of religious 
opinions, without affecting an irreligious neutrality, or 
compromising my own most sacred convictions of truth. 
To conceal my opinions would have been fruitless hypo- 

• Analytioal and Compantiye View of all BeUgiona now Extant 
among Mankind, with their Internal Diversitiea of Creed and Pro- 
fiMsion. By Josiah Conder, Author of the "Modem Traveller,'* etc., 
etc Bio. 1838. Pp.698. 



THEOLOGICAL QUESTIONS. 289 

CTiBj ; and I can only hope that I have not suffered them 
to betray me into any defect of candour or violation of 
charity. I have nDt attempted to treat of the Eoman 
Catholic tenets in the character of a Bomanist, or of 
Mahommedism in that of a Mussulman; no^ have I 
scrupled to speak of sects as sects, or of heresies as 
heresies. The Searcher of hearts knows, however, that 
my earnest desire and steady aim have been to vindicate 
the catholicity of Christ's Church, to harmonize the 
creed of its true members, rather than to exasperate our 
mutual dissensions; to show that the religious differences 
among Christians chiefly arise from causes extrinsic to 
the common rule and supreme arbiter of faith, and to 
lead to the practical conclusion, that as Christianity is 
demonstrably the only true religion, so no one needs 
despair, with the Bible in his hand, of ascertaining for 
himself, under its various disguises, the genuine linea- 
ments of true Christianity." 

Watford, February 17, 1839. 
LXVII. . . . Tou have indeed started three of the 
most difficult questions that you could have proposed for 
solution ; and upon each of them I have been led to con- 
clusions differing from those adopted by the majority of 
the orthodox. 

, The first of your inquiries relates to the inspiration 
of the books of the Old Testament, upon which I threw 
out some remarks in the Eclectic Bevieta,* during the 
Bible Society Controversy, which Haldane and Andrew 
Thomson denounced as neological and heretical, but 
which I have not seen reason to deem erroneous. Those 
who insist upon the absolute and even verbal inspiration 
of every portion of the canon of the Old Testament, rest 
* JSclecHc BevieWf Second Series, vols. xxiv. xxv. xxvi. 



290 THEOLOGICAL VIEWS. 

their opinion upon the following grounds: — 1. The 
sanction given by our Lord to the Jewish canon ai a 
whole, without discriminating one portion from another. 
2. The declaration of St. Paul, 2 Tim. iii. 16. 3. The 
impossilbilitj of determining what is inspired, if the whole 
is not, and the dangerous tendency of scepticism on such 
points. As to the first ground, we know that the Jews 
themselves made a distinction between the books, which 
they divided into three classes, and that they attributed 
to them a differeut degree of inspiration ; it may, there- 
fore, be as fairly presumed that our Lord tacitly sanc- 
tioned this threefold division (see " Analytical View of all 
Eeligions," p. 516, note ; Ech Eev,, vol. xxiv. p. 382). 
As to the second, I agree with Dr. J. P. Smith in think- 
ing that the absence of the auxiliary verb, and still more 
the scope of the passage, justify the rendering in the 
Vulgate ; and I render it, " all prophetical Scripture 
(being) also profitable," etc. Mr. Watts, I believe, 
stands by the rendering of our translators ; and I wrote 
to him at length my views last year. The affirmation 
that " every writing is Divinely inspired" must, at all 
events, be taken in a qualified sense. In answer to the 
third argument, I proposed four criteria of inspiration. 
Eel, Rev., xxiv. 388 : — 1. Every book of the O. T. is given 
by inspiration, which is referred to by our Lord and his 
Apostles, as inspired. 2. Or, the writer of which lays 
claim to inspiration. 3. Or, the author of which sus- 
tained the character of a prophet. 4. Or when the in- 
ternal evidence of its inspiration is too manifest to be 
mistaken. This applies especially to ihp book of Job, its 
author being uncertain. These criteria establish the 
inspiration of the whole of the Old Testament revelation j 
and all the prophetical portions, to which Heb. i. 1, and 
2 Pet. i. 21, more immediately refer. The Pentateuch 



INSPIEATION. 291 

must be included among the prophetical writings ; and 
so were the books of Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and the 
Kings, by the Jews, probably because they were carried 
on by a succession of prophets and seers. That David 
was a prophet is incontestable, and inspiration of the 
highest character attaches to such Psalms as Ps. ii., ex., 
etc. As to Esther, the Chronicles, and the Canticles, I 
have an invincible difficulty in supposing them to have 
been dictated by inspiration ; and there appears to me 
more danger of lowering the character of inspiration by 
placing them on a level with the prophetic books, than of 
countenancing scepticism by admitting the distinction 
between a sacred book or ecclesiastical record, and an 
inspired or prophetic writing.* But you will see my 
opinion more at large in the article referred to. 

I will take your third inquiry next. The general 
rule I should lay down is, that all ceremonial sanctity is 
abrogated, and that, under the new economy, the institu- 
tions of religion are rather to be viewed as the means of 
moral sanctity. The Sabbath is a means to an end ; and 
the rule of conscience relates to, and is determined by 
the end. There can be no intrinsic holiness in any por- 
tion of time or place. The Sabbath was holy, only as 
the temple was holy. That ceremonial sanctity has not 
been, as I conceive, transferred to the first day of the 
week ; and this is intimated, Eom. xiv. 5, and Col. ii. 16. 
But the primary law of the Sabbath binds us to a weekly 
day of rest, as a law of mercy to man and beast, to a day 
of public worship, without which religion could not be 
maintained in the world, and by which, in all ages and 
countries, one religion is discriminated from another; 

* As regards the books of Chronicles, it is believed that this 
opinion was subsequently changed. The spiritual element is, in point 
of factf more prominent in them than in the Kings. — ^E. B. C. 



292 THE SABBATH. 

and to a devout reference to what must be supposed to ' 
be the highest original end of the institution, even in 
Paradise — communion with God and the cultivation of 
piety. The Sabbath being made for man, is to be kept 
sacred for his sake, not for its own. The man who loves 
the Sabbath, will not be tempted to dishonour it ; and it 
is only rightly hallowed by the affections. This is " the 
law of liberty;" superstition is the law of bondage. Yet 
superstitious scruples have their use, in the absence of 
clearer views, as an outwork of principle ; and on this 
account the Apostle, in^Eom. xiv., teaches us to respect 
them, and to guard against leading others into sin by 
acting upon our Christian liberty. This especially 
applies to the observation of the Lord's Day ; and whQe 

1 wish to have my conscience firee from superstition on 
this point, I should be cautious against either giving 
offence on the one hand, or encouraging a dangerous 
laxity on the other. 

Your second inquiry relates to the Epistle to the 
Eomans. Hodge you shall have, as I have done with 
him. Stuart's work on the Eomans, I do not' think very 
highly of, though I think he is right, in the main, in his 
view of chap, vii." Generally, his judgment is to be dis- 
trusted, though his scholarship is highly respectable. I 
will write out my analysis of chap, ix., and hope it wiH 
serve to remove your difficulty. "Imputed righteous- 
ness" is a phrase unauthorized by Scripture, although 

2 Cor. V. 21 is usually used to justify it ; and in Scot- 
land, you would be anathematized for not holding to the 
phrase. It is not worth while disputing about the ex- 
pression, only avoid using it. What St. Paul says is 
imputed or reckoned to the believer as the groimd of 
acceptance, is his faith. We are saved and justified, not 
by the righteousness, but by the blood of Christ, his pro- 



THEOLOGICAL VIEWS. 293 

pitiatory sacrifice : his obedience, a/pwrtfrom his sacrifice, 
is never represented as either vicarious or piacular ; and 
if anything is to be spoken of as imputed to us, it is his 
death — ^the price of our redemption. But theology has 
been deformed by such verbal blunders, which must not, 
however, be treated as doctrinal errors. We believe in 
what is meant by the imputed righteousness of Christ, 
that is, free justification ; although I strongly dislike the 
unscriptural and incorrect technicality. 

Watford, March 24, 1839. 

LXVIII. You have certainly hit upon some of the 
most difficult problems. It is quite true, that belief 
must have, to deserve the name, e^dence for its basis ; 
but all truths do not admit of the same kind or degree 
of evidence, and, as Bishop Butler has admirably illus- 
trated in his " Analogy," it is an element of our proba- 
tion to be satisfied, in many cases, with that probable 
evidence which it has pleased God to vouchsafe to us. 

With regard to the inspiration of the Books of the 
Old Testament, the subject is- confessedly attended with 
difficulties, and the German neologists make short work 
of the matter, by rationalizing away their inspired cha> 
racter ; while Saldane and others goto the opposite and 
(as I conceive) absurd extreme of attributing to them 
an absolute verbal inspiration, which, of course, could be 
preserved in no translation. That Moses, in the Book of 
Genesis, made use of pre-existing materials, is in the 
highest degree probable, and does not, in my judgment, 
militate against the prophetical authority of the Book. 
Some traditional records must have been handed down 
from Noah, derived originally, we must suppose, from 
revelation to our first parents ; and such materials, as 
well as the Abrahamic history, must have possessed a 



294 INSPIRATION. 

sacred character, even before Moses collected them and 
interwove the fragments into a consecutive history. How 
far any of his historical knowledge was derived from im- 
mediate revelation is doubtful. There is very little in 
the Gospels that is related on other authority than that 
of an eye-witness or ear-witness ; yet we beHeve that the 
Evangelists wrote under the especial guidance of the Holy 
Spirit, who was promised to teach them what they should 
say, and to bring all things to their remembrance. In 
like manner, there is the strongest reason to beUeve that 
Moses, and the prophetic writers of the sacred histories 
of the Old Testament, were Divinely instructed as to 
what they should commit to writing, whether in the shape 
of record, laws, poetry, or prediction ; so that ^* it is 
written" became a law of beUef. The prophetic office was 
one of authority, and the authority was Divinely attested. 
Whatsoever, therefore, the prophets said, or wrote, or 
did, offieialhfy claimed the confidence and obedience due 
to Divine authority. You ask, if St. Paul had written 
a history of Bome, or a treatise on botany, or on 
political economy, would it have been inspired ? I do 
not find fault with your question ; it is not an unfair 
way of putting it. But I do not hesitate to say in reply, 
that if St. Paul had, in his apostolic charactery trans* 
mitted to the Churches a history of Eome, or a treatise 
on political science, there would have been every reason 
for concluding that he was Divinely commissioned and 
Divinely qualified to furnish them for the instruction and 
oomfort of the Churches ; and to them would have been 
applicable the language he applies to the O. T. Scrip- 
tures — '* Whatsoever things were written aforetime, were 
written for our learning," etc., Bom. xL 4. '* And they 
are written for our admonition," etc. 1 Cor. x. 11. 
The Apostle's reasoning in this chapter, and also in 



INSPIRATION. 295 

Heb. vii., respecting Melchisedec, as well as the general 
spirit of the references to the O. T. Scriptures, clearly 
indicates that the events recorded, the personages intro- 
duced, and the expressions used, had often a typical and 
predictive bearing and design, of which the writers them- 
selves coidd not be conscious, and which were the result 
of supernatural guidance. Now, to suppose any portion 
of falsehood to have mingled with truth in their narra- 
tives or declarations, written under such influence, and 
supported by the official authority of inspired men, is to 
" make God a liar." To impute falsehood to a part, is to 
invalidate the whole. It is true, there may be statements 
which betray the imperfect knowledge of the writers as 
to physical facts, but we cannot suppose that they were 
allowed to state anything at variance with fact. Eor 
instance, the first chapter of G-enesis may seem at variance 
with the discoveries of astronomical and geological science, 
to which we can hardly suppose the inspired knowledge or 
Egyptian lore of Moses extended. Yet that there is any 
real and necessary contradiction has never been proved, 
and is not for a moment to be admitted, or it woidd 
shake the very foundations of faith. We must, however, 
take into consideration the design of the inspired writer, 
in judging of the import of any passage. We are sure 
that the first chapter of Genesis was not intended to 
reveal astronomical facts, but to correct the false cos- 
mogony of the heathen sages. It does not treat of the 
origin of existence, but of the visible heaven and earth. 
No mention is made of the creation of angels and other 
orders of beings. How the earth became formless and 
void is not intimated. That light exists independently 
of the sun, or did exist befo];^ the sun was made the sun 
to our earth, mode'm science has rendered at least very 
supposable. Indeed (says M ) how else could the 



296 THEOLOGICAL VIEWS. 

light of the stars have reached the earth by that time P 
I think Dr. Eedford has some valuable remarks on this 
point in his " Congregational Lecture ;" and Maccul- 
loch's larger work will be worth your careful perusal, as 
showing the bearings of modem science on revelation. 
It may, perhaps, be safely admitted that Gen. i., ii. 1 — 8, 
has something of a poetical character in the very phrase- 
ology and construction ; yet, by poetry, we cannot allow 
the idea oi fiction to be conveyed, and it is venturing on 
very delicate ground to apply the phrase to the lyrical 
form and ornamental mode in which this account of the 
creation is given. If a poem, it was doubtless the earliest 
of all songs, such as might have been taught by angels to 
Adam in Paradise. 

You ask, what criteria can we take for the internal 
evidence of the inspiration of a book. Internal evidence 
can scarcely be reduced to any definite criteria. It must 
comprise the complex proof supplied by the contents, the 
originality of the knowledge or doctrine, the character of 
the writer, the stamp of holy elevation of sentiment ; but 
this would be matter for a volume. Take the Book of 
Job as an instance, in which the internal evidence of in- 
spiration is all but irresistible. In the Books of Samuel, 
Kings, etc., the marks of supernatural guidance may be 
less obvious ; but we have every reason to receive the 
testimony of the Jewish Qhurch to their being not only 
sacred books, but composed, under Divine direction, by a 
succession of prophets. And the way in which they are 
cited by the New Testament writers confirms this view, 
while it does not appear to me to prove the inspiration 
of all the hagiographa. 

Your query respecting faith opens the whole Sande^ 
manian controversy, respecting which, vide "Analytical 
View," pp. 434, 577 ; and Eclectic Eeview, Second Series, 



NATURE OF FAITH. 297 

April, 1823, vol. xix., p. 327, etc. Faith ia belief. Faith 
in a thing is a simple belief of the fact. Faith in a person 
is confidence and trust. But to believe a report upon 
the strength of testimony is to believe in the veracity 
and competency of the witness ; to believe a promise is 
to put faith in the promiser. The Gospel message Ib 
both a Divine testimony and a Divine promise ; and he 
does not believe upon the Son of God who does not yield 
the obedience of faith to the authority of God, and exer- 
cise the assurance of faith in the Divine mercy. Unbelief 
involves the rejection of some part of the Divine testi- 
mony, and it indicates that no part is received upon the 
ground of submission to that testimony, or faith in God. 
You ask, " What is th6 connection, of cause or sequence, 
between belief and the state of the heart ?" A disposi- 
tion to believe or to disbelieve, denoted by the words 
credulity and incredulity, is, with regard to religious 
truth, a moral disposition, indicative of a state of heart 
and of character. All experience testifies to this fact. 
A repugnance to believe unwelcome truth is natural ; — 
to receive holy truth, is the property of an unholy mind. 
On the other hand, the Gospel is in itself fitted to con- 
quer incredulity, to overcome the indisposition to believe, 
and to work that change of heart which is regeneration ; 
but, while adapted to have this effect as truth, the Scrip- 
tures clearly teach us that the concurrent influence of 
the Holy Spirit is absolutely necessary to secure this 
result. Much that relates to the truths of the Gospel, 
the scheme of redemption, the orthodox outline, may 
doubtless be believed as abstract truth, without pro- 
ducing a sanctifying influence. But the whole truth 
cannot be embraced by the heart (which, iq this refer- 
ence, is the moral understanding), without re-acting on 
the heart to salvation. 



298 THEOLOGICAL VIEWS. 

Tell me, honestly, whether I have made the matter 
clear to your apprehension. If I have, it may save you 
from being bewildered amid the mazes of a senseless 
logomachy. And now I think I have written enough 
for one epistle. 

Watford, April 7, '39. 

LXIX. To come at once to your questions, which 
I have great delight in solving :— 

1. The Apostle, in 1 Cor. vii. 12, does not disclaim 
inspiration or apostolic authority, but states that he had 
no special command from Christ to commimicate on the 
subject. Calvin interprets v. 10 — " Hac correctione 
significat, quod hie tradit, ex lege Dei sumptum esse. 
Alia enim quae tradebat, habebat etiam ex revelatione 
Spiritus : sed hujus authorem allegat Deum, quod lege 
Dei expressum sit.'* Again at v. 12, '^Quoniam 
nusquam de hoc re extabat in lege aut prophetis certum 
ac expressum verbum." I greatly respect Calvin as a 
judicious annotator, but he does not satisfy me here. It 
is to me very evident that the distinction the Apostle 
intends to convey is between a positive command of 
Christ, binding upon all, and what he offered simply as 
counsel or advice, which he did not wish to be taken as 
authoritative. Thus, he recommends marriage in v. 2 ; 
but in V. 6, he says, he gives no commandment on this 
head, simply recommending it Karh auyyvdfiriy in the 
way of indulgence, or permission ; pro eorwn infirmitate. 
To the married, he speaks authoritatively ; and the law 
of God is explicit on the point. And I think that the 
words in v. 12, rots 3c AoMrocf iyta Xiy<a, are improperly 
connected with what follows, and refer to his previous 
advice to the unmarried; for what follows is in con- 
tinuation of the directions to the married^ founded on 



INSPIRATION — T rPES. 299 

the Divine command. Verse 40 look^ the most like a 
disclaimer of inspired authority. But here, too, St. Paul 
wishes to be understood as giving only an opinion as to 
the preferableness of not marrying again — ^not as for- 
bidding second marriage. Then he adds, that he judges 
this opinion to be given under the influence of the Spirit 
of God. AoKw has been rendered " I trowy^ or, " am 
persuaded." Tyndal renders it, " And I think verily 
that I have the Spirit of God." Calvin, on this verse, 
says : " Non tamen videtur ironia carere quod dicit ex- 
istimo ;" supposing him to refer to the pretensions of the 
false apostles. This may be, as there occur several fine 
examples of irony in this very Epistle to the refined 
Corinthians. But I rather take it more simply, q. d,, 
" Although I only give my opinion that she will be hap- 
pier remaining a widow, I think that, in expressing this 
opinion upon a subject on which I have no command to 
give, no positive instructions from the Lord, I am still 
guided by the Spirit of God." You will see that your 
letter has led me to look at the passage very closely ; and 
the whole chapter is very important, as ftimishing a 
strong proof that the Apostle was most careful not to 
mingle his own opinions with the doctrines received by 
revelation from Christ (Gal. i. 12), or to push his apos- 
tolic authority beyond the limits of his commission. 

2. As to the typical character of historical events, 
you will find this subject adverted to in one of the four 
notes to my " Translation of the Epistle to the Hebrews." 
The facts may not have been, strictly speaking, typical, 
and yet they may be made to assume a typical character 
in the account given of them. That is to say, the account 
may be so framed (and this without the conscious inten- 
tion of the inspired writer) as to serve the purpose of a 
prophetic emblem op type. You will see that I consider 



800 THEOLOGICAL VIEWS. 

the Apostle's argument in Heb. vii. as requiring us to 
suppose that it was with a specific design Melchisedec 
appears as he does in the sacred narrative, neither more 
nor less being recorded of him than answers the purpose 
of the typical application. " Thus explained, we obtain 
a fresh proof of the Divine inspiration of the sacred his- 
torian, since he could not foresee the typical application; 
and the argument of the Apostle is rescued from the 
appearance of either fanciful accommodation or incon- 
clusive reasoning." 

On the Quasj:b Contboverst. 

Watford Field House, Biay 5. 

LXX. Esteemed akb Deab Sib, — I regret that it 
was not in my power to fulfil your wish by reviewing the 
controversy in the May Eclectic, I could not have ac- 
complished it in time, nor could the editor have made 
room for its insertion. 

In the meantime I have been occupied with reading 
Bnd writing upon the subject for a different purpose. I 
am engaged upon the last chapter of an '^ Analytical 
View of Christian Churches and Sects ;" and in this I 
introduce an account of Quakerism. I have before me 
the "Eules of Discipline," Bates's "Doctrine of Priends," 
Tuke's. " Principles," and " Life of Whitehead," Gur- 
ney's Works, Wilkinson, Hancock, Ball, Wardlaw, etc., 
and all your publications. Barclay and Penn I have 
looked into several years ago, and have not deemed it 
necessary to go beyond the extracts cited by Mr. Wil- 
kinson in order to substantiate my statements. I think 
I now pretty clearly imderstand the history and mystery 
of Quakerism. Its true character is drawn by the 
Apostle, Col. ii. 8. It seems to me much more dosely 



THE QUAKER CONTROVERSY. 301 • 

related to the Eomish mysticism than I had supposed. 
It is Christianity shrouded in mystical deism, and strug- 
gling with it, like a lamp in a vapoury atmosphere. It 
combines the Platonism of a learned age with the fanae- 
ticism of the seventeenth century, and is a skilful com- 
bination of opposite elements weU adapted to beguile 
both the proud and the simple. Is it not so ? But that 
Gk)d has had a people among the Society I cannot doubt; 
and this revival, which is passing Quakerism through an 
ordeal, is detecting and manifesting who have indeed the 
Spirit of Christ. 

We have consented to admit into the Patriot an 
account of the proceedings of the ensuing yearly meet- 
ing, which we expect to have furnished by some of 
your Mends. I fear that the old leaven will mar the 
feast. 

And now, my dear sir, permit me to advert to the 
subject of infant baptism. I believe I have told you 
that I am in the practice of attending the Baptist chapel 
in this town, of joining with them in the Lord's Supper, 
and of occasionally occupying their pulpit ; so that you 
will not suspect me of being very strongly influenced by 
party prejudices. But I am more and more firmly con- 
vinced that the restricting of baptism to adult confession 
of faith is an error, and, like all errors, of evil conse- 
quence. 

Baptism is no part, as it appears to me, of ^profession 
of discipleship, but is rather an admission to discipleship. 
Ihe question, then, is, "Who are the disciples of 
Christ?" Our Lord Himself said, "Suffer the Uttle 
children to come unto me." TChe duty of bringing our 
children to Christ — their claim to be taught — their 
capacity to h& discipled — ^their susceptibility of Divine 
teachii4;> will not be denied: why then should it be 



302 THEOLOGICAL VIEWS. 

scrupled to employ this rite of discipleship according to 
the spirit of the reasoning of St. Peter, Acts i. 47 ? A 
convert from another religion can only be received on 
his own profession and desire to be taught. But the 
children of believers have a claim to be taught, and a 
correlative obligation of the most binding nature lies on 
their parents, of vrhich the performance of the rite is a 
solemn recognition. " I reminded them " (the Baptists 
in Scotland, who were reported to be negligent of family 
religion) " that if family religion was neglected, Pedo- 
baptists would be furnished with the most weighty ob- 
jection against our sentiments as Baptists." Such are 
the words of Andrew Fuller, a leading minister among 
the Antipedobaptists. And do they not amount to an 
admission that the Baptist views have a possible ten- 
dency to lead to this neglect of God's great ordinance of 
family religion ? Does not the denial of this rite to the 
infant children of believers sanction the dangerous notion 
that not their baptism merely, but their choice of a reli- 
gion, and^ their becoming partakers of Divine grace, must 
(or may) be deferred till they attain an adult age ? Is 
it not implied that the child of a heathen stands in the 
same relation and condition towards G-od as the child of 
one who, with his whole household, fears and worships 
God P And, further, does not deferring the rite till an 
adult age divide a Christian family into the baptized 
and unbaptized, and thus render it a rite of disunion ? 
In ancient times, and according to Eastern notions, this 
would have been no trivial consideration. It appears to 
me very questionable whether unbaptized children would 
have been permitted to sit at table with baptized per- 
sons ; and what we read of the baptism of households 
(that is, families) as well as a remarkable passage, 1 Cor. 
vii. 14, sanctions this idea. I am not contending for 



INFANT BAPTISM. 303 

what is, in technical phrase, termed the church-member- 
ship of children ; but I cannot think the institutions of 
the Gospel were intended to supersede or clash with th© 
domestic economy, by which chiefly, if parents were 
faithful to their charge, the church would be perpetuated. 

You are aware that it is the practice of our churches 
to require an adult confession or profession of faith on 
the part of those baptized in infancy, prior to their ad- 
mission to commuriion or membership. This answers, in 
some degree, to the original design of the Popish rite of 
confirmation : We differ from the Baptists only in this, 
that they defer the rite of initiation — ^what I should 
venture to caU the rite of Christian education — ^till the 
time of admittance to their church fellowship ; and they 
then first bestow the sign of discipleship, as they would 
upon a heathen convert of yesterday, upon one who, it 
may be, has grown up in the fear of the Lord — ^the son 
of pious members — an attendant with them on the mi- 
nistry and public worship — ^receiving him, though a child 
and nursling of the church, as from the world. Is this 
rational ? Is it Scriptural ? AHow me to entreat your 
consideration of the subject in this light : When a Gen- 
tile in primitive times embraced the faith of Christ, did 
he not renounce idolatry for his offspring and descend- 
ants, and pledge himself to bring up his children in the 
Christian faith? Look at 1 Cor. x. 2, and consider 
whether all the young children were not baptized unto 
Moses, discipled or subjected to him as their leader, in 
the cloud and in the sea. The Apostle evidently borrows 
the phrase from the Christian rite of initiation, which he 
applies to the Mosaic church in the wilderness. 

I am not surprised that evangelical friends, when led 
to perceive the evils arising out of membership by birth- 
right in their own society, should be disposed to view 



304 THEOLOGICAL VIEWS. 

with jealousj any practice that may seem to favour the 
notion of an hereditary title to those Christian privileges 
which belong only to those whom G-od has sanctified. 
The Popish heresy of baptismal regeneration, so tena- 
ciously retained by the Church of England, has, I 
imagine, produced the opposite mistake of the Baptists, 
whose opinions I must admit to be rational and Scrip- 
tural on this point, in comparison with those who convert 
a symbolic rite into a sort of incantation. StilL, the 
undue stress which the Baptists lay upon the rite, in 
another point of view, has been found to produce a falla- 
cious assurance on the part of many ; so strong is the 
tendency to exalt the ritual above the spiritual. Quaker- 
ism, which was in part produced by the Popish abuse of 
the sacraments, seeks to escape from this tendency by 
substituting the mystical for the ritual ; but this is found 
to be still more fataUy opposed to genuine spirituality. 
How wise is our Heavenly Master, who, knowing what 
was in man, has instituted but two symbolic rites — each, 
properly viewed, so replete with instruction — ^the one 
implying the necessity of the washing of regeneration, 
and the renewal of the Holy Ghost in all who would 
enter the kingdom of Christ, and the other perpetuating 
throug;h the darkest ages of the church, notwithstanding 
the idolatrous superstition that had become attached to 
it, the fundamental doctrine of the propitiatory sacrifice, 
and thus showing forth the Lord's death till He come. 



CHAPTEE yill. 

LONDON AGAIN. 

ArTEB fifteen years spent at Watford, Mr. Conder found 
it desirable, for reasons sufficiently indicated in the 
^preceding chapter, to remove to London, or at least to 
its immediate neighbourhood, within omnibus range of 
Temple Bar. Scarcely any motive attracted him to 
one suburb more than another, so that the selection of 
a residence was a perplexing problem. At last, Highgate, 
lying close on the skirts of the still uninvaded country, 
and lifted more completely than any other suburb out of 
the atmosphere of the great city, was preferred. Mr. 
Conder took a house at Holly Terrace, and removed 
thither in the summer of 1839. Here he resided for six 
years, and then removed to Clapham, where he continued 
until the spring of 1851. His family circle having, 
meantime, diminished, as the sons went out one by one 
into the battle of life, until it consisted only of himself, 
Mrs. Conder, and their daughter, Mr. Conder quitted 
Clapham, and being unable to decide where to fix his 
home, took lodgings at Kennington, near one of his sons. 
His stay was prolonged from time to time, until more 
than three years had slipped away. Circumstances then 
indicated St. John's Wood as the most desirable locality. 
He removed thither, near the close of 1854, just twelve 
months before he was called to enter on that eternal 
house, not made with hands, which awaits the tired pil- 
grim at the end of his life-wanderings. 



306 LONDON AGAIN. 

These closing years of Mr. Conder's life were, like 
their predecessors, years of unremitting and varied intel- 
lectual toil. To write their history, were it possible, 
would be to fill pages with details of endless Committee 
meetings. Public meetings, Deputations to Ministers, 
Parliamentary tactics, Newspaper controversies — ^things 
as empty of interest now, as they were fiiU of interest at 
the moment ; of which time devours the fruit, and treads 
out the remembrance. The reccM'd would show, what, 
alas ! any one may prove for himself who will make the 
experiment, how ungrateful a task it is to serve the 
Public — ^whether the religious public, or the political 
public ; and how little there is to encourage a man thus 
to spend his strength and life, except the knowledge that 
no true work can be altogether wasted ; that results do 
not cease, because they are unknown ; and that at the 
Master's coming, no faithftd service will be forgotten or 
unrequited. 

Mr. Conder's labours as Editor of the Patriot con- 
tinued through this whole period, in conjimction with 
other literary labours. His spare time was still assidu- 
ously devoted to theological and biblical studies, and 
more than one of his published works originated in 
investigations undertaken for his own satisfaction and 
spiritual profit. If he had turned his pen only to tasks 
which would have paid him, he might have been a richer 
man ; but, true to the principles on which he had always 
worked, he thought more of the service which his writings 
might render to the Christian Church, or to his country, 
than of the profits they would realize. And yet the money 
would have been of great value to him. Pecuniary diffi- 
culties were for many years a source of trial and anidety. 
He felt keenly not being able to give to religious and 
benevolent objects as he would have desired (though, in 



TKIALS OF FAITH. 307 

« 

tsyc^, he gave largely of his time and brams) ; and the 
disappointment of several plans by which he hoped per- 
manently to increase his income, was a sore trial of faith 
and patience. In one of his letters, he says — " * My soul 
is even as a weaned child ;' to be brought into this state 
is a great attainment. When I think I have got the 
lesson by heart, I find I have to learn it all over again. 
Otod has to bear with very dull scholars." And again, in 
reference to the fEolure of plansf which had seemed full 
of promise — " These passages in the Divine Providence 
perplex me more in trying to find out the meaning, than 
any cramp text in St. Paul's Epistles. AU my plans and 
projects, though earnestly prayed over, are baffled ; and 
I am constantly tantalized with things that seem pre- 
sented to me only to be snatched away." It pleased 
&od, in his fatherly providence, not only to keep the 
faith of his servant &om faiLing under these harassing 
anxieties, but, when preparing for him trials of a differ- 
ent kind, graciously to remove them ; so that for the last 
year or two of his life, he was probably more free fr^m cares 
of this description than at any former period. So wonder- 
folds the ti/mmg of God's dealings, that nothing is to the 
observant Christian a stronger confirmation of his faith. 
The neighbourhood of London offered very few op- 
portunities for continuing the practice of preaching, in 
'which Mr. Conder had been so frequently engaged wluie 
living at Watford. From causes which it is not worth 
while to discuss here, the feeling against lay-preaching 
is stronger (among Dissenters) in London than in the 
country ; * and Mr. Conder had no wish to be thought 
to trench on the ministerial of&ce. Now and then an 
opportunity offered, which he willingly embraced; es- 
pecially when visiting Sheffield, where he frequently 
occupied the pulpit of his brother-in-law, the Eeverend 



308 LONDON AGAIN. 

Thomas Smith. Such visits were refreshing intemip« 
tions to the regular routine of toil in London. But he 
always carried his work with him, and an entire month 
of complete recreation was probably a thing which he 
never enjoyed since he left school. Of one of these 
Sheffield visits, he writes — "It has done me good, al- 
though I had not much rest of mind. I wrote almost 
all the leaders for the Patriot during my absence, preached 
two Sabbath mornings out of three, and two Wednesday 
evenings gave an address at the United Prayer-meetings 
and made a speech, as you would see, at a soirie. So I 
was not idle. I enjoyed preaching again, after so long am 
interval, where I knew my voice would be heard with plea* 
sure and affection ; but that does not seem the line in which 
Providence intends me to exercise the gift intrusted to 
ine. I am more and more convinced, however, that it ia 
& mistake to confound the prophet with the pastor.** 

The year after quitting Watford, Mr. Conder waa 
called to lose his pious and venerable mother, at the 
advanced age of eighty-six. With the exception of this 
peaceful and happy departure — ^an occasion of thanks* 
giving rather than of submission — ^his domestic circle 
continued to enjoy a signal immunity from the visits of 
death, until within three years of his own removal. 
Cares and trials he had, as every man has, and as every 
Christian knows that he needs; but though they were at 
times hard to bear, he delighted to express his sense of 
Gk>d's mercies, as far outbalancing these burdens, and 
forbidding any thoughts of repining. The day after 
entering on his fifty-eighth year, he wrote — " I am often 
ashamed of the tenor of my thoughts, too often exclu- 
sively, tyrannically, occupied with petty but pressing 
anxieties and annoyances, as if I cared for nothing 
beyond them. I seem to feed upon ashes, with golden 



COMPULSORY REST. 309 

fruit hanging all around me. For with Eiuch a wife and 
Buch children, I feel I am one of the most prosperous 
and favoured of men. But though this fresh life-year 
does not open very cheerfully, I have no doubt it will in 
its course be marked, as every one of its predecessors 
has been, by the Divine goodness ; and perhaps bring, in 
answer to your prayers, in concurrence with ours, relief 
from the long-continued trial. A cloudy morning often 
precedes a bright and lovely evening." 

At Midsummer, 1848, Mr. Conder was laid aside by 
a severe accident to his foot, by which the "tendon 
Achilles" was nearly severed. Skilful treatment, and 
tender and vigilant nursing, by the blessing of God, 
averted any fatal results, and the use of the foot was 
eventually almost completely restored. But he was con- 
fined for months to his house, or a carriage ; and it is 
not unlikely that the compulsory rest thus ordained for 
him, at a time when he was overtaxed with combined 
toil and anxiety, was the means of averting some serious 
illness, i^d lengthening his life. The feelings awakened 
by this merciful chastening are expressed in the follow- 
ing brief and simple lines, penned in the ensuing spring: — * 

I was Btriying in my prayer ; 

Was struggling in my will ! 
Thou didst touch my frame ; I bear 

The mark and memoiy stilL 
Thou hast spared and bid me live- 
Wilt Thou not the blessing give ? 

Bless me, O my Gk>d, and make 

My life a blessing yet ! 
Bless me richly for their sake 

To whom my heart's in debt. 
Bless me, that with mind and pen 
I may serve both saints and men. 
March, 1849< 



810 LONDON AGAIN. 

In the year 1845, Mr. Conder published the cream 
of his biblical studies in the form of a large octavo, tmder 
the title of " The Literary History of the New Testa- 
ment."* Perhaps the title was not very well chosen, 
but it was not easy to find a better. The nature of the 
work is thus stated in the preface : — " Although nume- 
rous works have appeared, both in this country and in 
Germany, intended to serve as introductions or helps to 
the critical study of the New Testament, the author of 
this volume is not aware that there exists any popular 
manual, affording a condensed view of the literary his- 
tory, chronology, internal evidence, and distinctive fea» 
tures of the apostolic writings. To supply this deficiency 
the present work has been undertaken, in the hope, that 
while it may assist to guide the investigations of the 
biblical student, it may also serve to interest general 
readers more extensively in the topics of inquiry con- 
nected with the historical and critical illustration of the 
New Testament." Very great care and pains were be- 
stowed, in this work, on the analysis of the Apostolic 
Epistles, which had formed the writer's fsivourite study 
for very many years ; and these analyses will be found to 
constitute the most important and valuable portion of 
the work. Great pains were also bestowed on the con- 
sideration of the distinctive characters of the Gospels, 
and the mode of harmonizing their principal difficulties. 

The preparation of the chapter on the Apocalypse, 
in the volume just mentioned, led Mr. Conder to resume 
and extend his study of that difficult book, and at the 
commencement of 1849 he published a commentary on 
it, under the title of " The Harmony of History with 
Prophecy." t The "historical counterpart to the pre- 
dictions is given in the form of citations from Gibbon, 

• SeelejB, pp. 608. t Slukw, ftcp. 870, pp. 682. 



AUTHORSHIP. 311 

Kobertson, Hallam, Sismondi, and other popular writers, 
in whose language there will often be found a precise 
adaptation to the Apocalyptic emblems, which is the 
more striking from being undesigned." In its general 
line of exposition, Mr. Conder's volume coincides with 
Mr. Elliott's masterly and erudite work, to which frequent 
reference is made ; but it differs in the explanation of 
some symbols (as t^e Ten-homed Beast, the Harvest, 
and the Vintage), and altogether as to the supposed pre- 
millennial coming of the Lord. 

At the autumnal meeting of the Congregational 
Union at Southampton, in 1850, Mr. Conder read an 
essay on Dr. Watts, prepared at the request of the com- 
mittee, on occasion of the assembly being held at the 
birth-place of the father of modem psalmody, a century 
(and two years over) after his death. In compliance 
with the vote of the assembly, this paper was published 
in an elegant little volume, under the title of " The Poet 
of the Sanctuary."* 

In the autumn of the following year Mr. Conder 
published a revised edition of the Psalms and Hyinns of 
Dr. Watts. The work had been in hand at intervals for 
many years, and cost him a vast amount of labour. His 
hope was, by casting aside all those compositions which 
have become obsolete, discarding superfluous verses, cor- 
recting objectionable phrases, and arranging all the 
hymns in one methodical series, to aid in preventing 
these noble strains from falling into disuse (through the 
adoption of hymn-books containing but a small number 
of Watts's hymns), and to furnish aji edition suited, in 
every way, for congregational use. 

Inunediately after putting this work to press, Mr. 
Conder, accompanied by Mrs. Conder, visited the lakes 

♦ Snow, 1861, pp. 142. 



312 LONDOir AGAIir. 

of Westmoreland and Cumberland, prerionslj to attend** 
ing the autumnal meeting of the Congregational Union 
at Sheffield. One of the letters given in tiiis chapter 
refers to this journey, which was one of much enjoyment. 
The following two sonnets were among the memorials of 
the excursion: — 

APPLETHWAITB GILL. 

(JSuffffeded ty theplcmtvng of a seedling oak on a epof where Word^ 
worthy not long before his death, had been seen a^arewtUf in 
devout meditation.) , 

Here, on the base of Skiddaw, Wobdbwobth stood. 
And in this green recess retired, alone, 
Ck)mmt[ned with G^od. Here, too, the soil his own, 
Where, through deep gill, green slopes snd tangled wood. 
Leaps the firee stream, he once had thought it good 
To build a Poet's Home : — then, not unknown 
Had been this spot, fronting the mountain zono 
That fondly circles Derwent's silver flood. 
Sure, Eden could no lovelier scene present ; 
And here unfiEtllen man might be content. 
But Poets build in yene, their home the scene 
Made yocal with thear name, to which they lent 
Their living spelL Here, where the Bard has been. 
This nursling oak shall be his sylran monument. 

Beptember 24. 

SOUTHEY'S MOinTMENT. 

In Southey's changed abode a stranger dwells. 

Tet still his fayourite sjlyan walk remains. 

Where Greta in its stony bed complains. 

Oft as with sudden rash from gills and feUa 

The gentle current to a torrent swells. 

Still, monarch of the scene, dark Skiddaw reigns^ 

And Derwent's fiiiiy isles and circling chains 

Of wood and crag exert their nameless spells. 

A simple slab marks where his a^es lie, 

Fast by the churoh $ while^ from the sovlptpr's art. 



EXCURSION TO THE LAKES. 313 

Within the iiisle hiB semblaaoe meets the eye i 
The marble sleepedr makes the stranger start. 
The Sabbath throng pass reverently by, 
And some turn back to gaze, ere they depart. 

Keswick, September 26. 

Several of the letters, op portions of letters, given in 
tliis chapter have been selected as conveying the views 
of their writer on important topics — ^theological, eccle- 
siastical, or philosophical — on which he had largely 
thought, read, and written, during many years ; and on 
which, therefore, his deliberate and matured opinions are 
here expressed. 

[Sheffield] Oct. 28 [1839]. 
LXXI. * . « . What with writing leaders, acting as 
uncle^s cwrate, a few visits, and receiving company, etc., my 
time has been very fuUy occupied. Mamma will have told 
you how very unweU your uncle has been : to-day he has 
come down stairs for the first time since !Friday week. 
I preached for him both parts of the day yesterday and 
the previous Sunday, from Heb. xii. 7, Matt. ,xxv. 21, 
as well as gave the lecture on the Wednesday. The people 
have expressed themselves very much gratified by the 
supply ; and nothing would do but I must preach last 
night a sermon for the benefit of Eotherham College, 
the same being placarded and advertised. In the morn- 
ing, my subject waa 1 Cor. ii. 6, in which I showed that 
true faith did not rest upon unreasoning adherence to the 
religion in which the individual had been brought up — ^nor 
Upon the Papal foundation, the authority of the Church 
— ^nor upon the. Ught within, the Quaker notion— nor 
upon obedience to State authority — nor upon servile 
deference to any favourite leader or teacher — ^nor upon 
metaphysical reasonings — ^nor upon impressions, the 



314 LONDON AGAIN. 

creed of imagination and fanaticism ; but upon the de- 
monstrated truth of the doctrine, the experimental 
knowledge of its power, and the power of the grace of 
G-od realized in the practical fruits of faith. Haying 
thus shown that all religion must rest upon Divine 
teaching, in the evening I showed the necessity and 
office of human teaching, of academic training ; taking as 
my text, 1 Tim. iii. 6, and showing that a well-trained youth 
was much fitter for the office than an old novice. The 
morning sermon, more particularly, appears to have pro- 
duced a satisfactory impression. On "Wednesday, I met 
about fifty persons in the school-room, to form a R. F. 
Association for Sheffield, which promises to be tolerably 
effectiye, if not very numerous and considerable. 

H0II7 Terrace, March 1, 1840. 
LXXII. It is lawftil to do well on the Sabbath-day, 
and I thiiik I shall do well to write a few lines to you. 
And so, my dear boy, we have both been employed this 
morning in the same honourable and delightful service of 
teaching others what we have been taught of God. I 
have been speaking of the privilege of discipleshipy in 
being admitted to the higher knowledge which is the 
reward of obedience, reserved for the friends of the 
Master, John xv. 15. I suppose that my congregation, 
has not been larger than yours, if less rude. Mr. 
Blessly has been called to Portsmouth in consequence of 
the death of his father. I " supplied'* for him also last 
Sunday morning, and you would have been interested 
in the subject — 6 ©cos iv avr^ fievcc, koL avm h r^ 
®c^ ; a phraseology which I conceive to be G^nostic, and. 
to allude to Gnostic (or Buddhic) pretensions ; but the 
doctrine of St. John to be the opposite of myBticism* 
And I showed,^^^, what the language implied as to the 



SERMONS. 315 

nature of religion — namely, that (confessedly) (1) the 
the knowledge of Q-od is the supreme good ; that (2) by 
this knowledge we are to seek reunion with G-od ; and 
that (3), as to have God abiding in us is the highest 
virtue, to dwell in G-od is the highest bliss: secondly^ 
whereby true religion is distinguished from false religion 
— ^namely, (1) that it has its root in faith, the belief of 
the truth, which is mental obedience ; (2), that it is a 
life of which we must have experimental evidence ; (3) 
that it produces moral conformity to the Deity, assimi- 
lation of character, not of essence, as the old mystics 
dreamed. Now, I dare say, in your reading you will 
come across sentiments and language which will illus- 
trate this view of the passage. Mysticism, the Antiao- 
mianism of the intellect, and the most subtile form of 
error, has prevailed, under some of its Protean forms, in 
all ages and nations, from Pythagoras's Indian masters 
to Penn and Barclay. 

. . . Our EeHgious Freedom Society movements 
are beginning to ftimish me with a great deal of work. 
My visit to Leicester was in this wise. It being thought 
advisable, on public grounds, to come to a good under- 
standing with the reverend Eadicals of that place, and to 
put a stop to the petty warfare they were waging against 

London committees, the Eev. Messrs. and j 

and the Secretary, were deputed to visit Leicester, to 
hold a conference with a deputation from the Leicester 
Voluntary Church Association Committee. Accordingly, 
we left London by the eight o'clock train on Wednesday 
se'nnight, and proceeding from the Blisworth station by 
coach, reached Leicester soon after four, where we were 
met by two of the deputation. At six we entered upon 
the conference; and after some hours' brisk debate, 
adjourned till ten the next morning. Our second con- 



316 LONDON AGAIN. 

ference lasted till near two. Then, haying come to a 
tolerably satisfactoiy conclusion, we dined with the Eev. 
J. P. Mursell ; and left Leicester early next morning for 
Northampton. Ther^ we met a few Mends by appoint- 
ment ; and taking the steam again at Blisworth, reached 
London early in the evening. It happened fortunately 
that Thursday and Friday were beautiful days, so that I 
enjoyed the excursion. Our Committee have now at last 
decided upon energetic movements to defeat Sir S. 
Inglis*s motion on Church Extension. A public meet- 
ing in London is fixed for the 19th, which will, we hope, 
be responded to by public meetings in, all the great 
towns. I wonder what the Angel James says to the 
resolutions at Walsall. If he does not move now, let 
him expect his chapel to be burned down like Dr. Baf- 
fles*s. But I have strayed into politics before I was 
aware. And this is a day upon which I like to wash my 
feet &om the soil of this dirty world. And this reminds 
me of an excellent article in the last American Bibliedl 
Bepository, which I believe Mr. Watts takes in. It is 
upon the true import of Paimiio, which the writer, in 
gratifying coincidence with my own views, contends to 
be strictly synonymous with KaOapiito, without retaining 
any specific meaning as to the mode. I wish I could 
trace any etymological connection between hapto or 
lapHzo and our English bathe, which seems to me to 
answer very exactly in its general character to the Greek 
term. There are two other articles — "Character of 
American Literature," and "The Book of Enoch" — 
worth your reading. If you cannot borrow the number, 
I will send it you. 



ANTI-SLAVERY CONVENTION. 317 

Highgate, June 12 [1840]. 
LXXIII. It is quite too late to answer your, last 
letter to me, it was so very long ago ; and I did not 
mean to let it lie so long unanswered, only dear manuna 
has monopolized the pleasure of corresponding with you 
of late. But to-night she is too tired even to write to 
you. What will you say to the grand start she has 
made — ^yesterday attending, a committee of Highgate 
ladies as President (ess) of the Bible Association (such 
as it is), and to-day accompanying me to "The World's 
Convention" — ^aHas the Anti-Slavery Conference — ^where 
we have had a very interesting though somewhat extraor^ 
dinary meeting. Some of the wild men of Massachusetts 
wished to force " The Women's Question" on us, some 
female delegates having been sent to us whom we did 
not choose to recognise ; and after a very animated dis- 
cussion of several hours, we decided by an overpowering 
majority against the Martineauites, Among the speakers^ 
before the question was brought on, were the venerable 
Chairman, Thomas Clarkson, O'Connell, Knibb, etc. ; and 
on the mooted point, sundry American delegates, Gteorge 
Thompson, Burnet, your pastor. Dr. Morison, Dr» Bow- 
ling (!) , Charles Stovel, and half a hundred more. Mamma 
had a lady's ticket, of which each committee-man had 
one, and sat with the small group of distinguished 
** females" (as the odious phrase goes), cisatlantic and 
transatlantic. But I said I would leave her to tell you 
all about it. 

You will wonder that I could begin my letter (which 
is, however, not a letter, but only a scribble) without 
adverting to the horrible attempt upon the Queen's life ; 
but I feel to have written to you upon that subject in 
yesterday's Fatriot, There is no doubt the young mis- 
creant has been employed by others; but it will be 



318 LONDON AGAIN. 

difELcult to find a clue to the conspiracy, and in the 
meantime all conjecture and speculation are useless. 
You may imagine the intense interest which the event 
has excited. 

[The picture given in the postscript of the " distin- 
guished females/' though not &om Mr. Conder's pen, is 
too graphic to be omitted.] 

' I am not at all tired, although dear papa kindly thinks 
I must be, and I fully intended writing ; but as it waa 
already late, it was judged better for his ready pen to be 
employed, and that I should retire to rest, as — ^would 
you believe ? — ^I am again going early to-morrow morn- 
ing to hear the speeches at the " Convention," which I 
expected to find interesting beyond anything that could 
be imagined. In itself it is and will be so, but '^ this 
day's uproar" exceeds description ; the shouts of those 
who tffould he heard, and the persevering calls for those 
who ou^ht to be heard, while several point-blank contn^ 
dictions of the Americans by each other proved that they 
were " divided among themselves" — ^produced altogether 
such a vulgar clamour as could never have presented 
itself to my imagination. And all this in the presence 
of the " ladies" themselves, several of whom were most 
untidily arrayed in creased and limp dresses, tumbled 
and soiled collars, coffee-coloured cambric handkerchiefs, 
hair anything but neat, and nails which served as hiero^ 
glyphics for "unwashen hands." I believe, too, the 
object of the " fair visitors" is, in part, to waken the 
ladies of England to a sense of their '' rights," and the 
maintenance of the same. If we are thus to start out of 
our spheres, who is to take our place P who, as '^ keepers 
at home," are to '^guide the house," and train up children? 
Are the gentlemen kindly to officiate for us P 



NEW TESTAMENT CRITICISM. 819 

* You will surely be at home to attend the great meet- 
ing. Do you remember your fears that slavery would 
be abolished, and there would be " no more meetings," 
before yau were old enough to be present at them? 
There will, at all events, be one more.' 

H0II7 Terrao^ September 18. 

LXXIV. . . . And so I am now between fifty and 
a hundred ! I feel it to be a great mercy and privilege 
to have been spared — I should say preserved — ^thus long, 
BO as to see our dear boys rising up one after another 
into manhood, and fulfilling our best hopes; and an 
exceeding great mercy to have dear mamma preserved to 
us all, and you all to us. What ought we to render, as 
a family, to Him who has so greatly blessed and distin- 
guished us ! Let us pray to be made and kept vessels of 
honour, fit for the Master's use. . . . 

I may, perhaps, enclose my translation of the 1st of 
Ephesians, which I should like you to show to Mr. 
Vatts. It is certainly a little puzzling, and, if the 
A.postle used no punctuation, must, one would think, 
have been so even to Q-reeks, to reduce this wave-like 
flow of words to rigid and precise construction ; and to 
refer aU the xara's and cis's to their proper place and 
function. Nothing but an attentive examination and 
nice perception of the scope can, I think, enable us to do 
this ; and those critics who go merely by what they deem 
rules of syntax are often demonstrably wrong. There 
are cases in which what the Apostle miist mean is very 
different from what verbal criticism would pronounce to 
be the grammatical meaning; in which cases I can 
never conclude that the Apostle disregarded or violated 
grammar, but infer that we do not know all the rules 
that governed the use of the language— as, for instance, 



320 LONDON AGAIN. 

in reference to the article, that which seems to ns 
arbitrary being determined by reasons, though we may 
not be able to detect them. It is one thing to try to 
force our own preconceived notions upon the meaning of 
the sacred writer, and another to force his own meaning, 
as deduced from the whole train of thought upon the 
language he employs, when the words will not voluntarily 
disclose what l^ey were intended to express. This would 
be thought a very odd mode of interpretation, and learned 
scholars would ridicule my notion ; but it is sanctioned 
by nature and experience. Children learn the use of 
words by inferring their meaning— they make out mean- 
ings before they understand the words. So it is in con- 
versing with foreigners. We learn to catch the general 
meaning before we can acquire the precise knowledge of 
the words which convey it. And I think that Scripture 
must often be studied in this child-like manner, and be 
most safely interpreted by this child-like process. 

H0U7 Terrace, May 2, 1841. 
LXXV. I need not say how constantly you are in 
my thoughts, especially on the Sabbath-day ; and I like 
to take a few moments of this only leisure portion of my 
time to converse with you. There is not much in your 
last letter, written by snatches, to reply to; but your 
questions relating to moral philosophy will furnish a text. 
I hwoe thought much upon the subject, and you will find 
the results in my red MS. book, and in the Eelectie 
SevieWy passim. Moral philosophy is a vague term: 
it ought to include (1) theology ; (2) ethics ; (3) law ; 
(4) political science. Paley uses the terms, moral philo- 
sophy, morality, ethics, etc., as convertible ; but morality 
18 only a part of moral philosophy, if this be, as Paley 
says, *^ the science which teaches men their duty and the 



ETHICS. 321 

reasons of it." Q-rove (a Dissenting minister, who con- 
tributed some of the Saturday papers in ^he Spectator), 
in his work on Ethics (2 vols. 8vo), says : " Ethics, or 
morality, is a science directing human actions for the 
attainment of happiness. The objects of this science, by 
which it is differenced from all others, are the actions of 
mankind as capable of being directed by a common rule, 
and made subservient to the acquisition of happiness." 
I believe that very little that goes under the name of 
moral philosophy, or ethics, is much better than the 
jargon of the schoolmen ; but it is a fine exercise to hunt 
down the fallacies you are sure to start at every step. 
You ought to read with great attention Sir James 
Mackintosh's " Introductory Essay," and my article upon 
it (M 22., Third Series, vol. vi., Oct. 1831). Look, too, 
at my review of Dr. Dewar's " Moral Philosophy " (vol. 
XXV., p. 505). Paley was a lawyer, not a philosopher ; 
he is always clear, but often unsound and fallacious. 
Adam Smith (" On Moral Sentiments ") I regret I never 
have been able to find time to read, but only know at 
second hand. I believe it is one of the most valuable 
works of its class. Then you must not forget Dr. 
Wardlaw's volume, and my dispute with him about con- 
science. Archbishop King and other writers of his 
school, you must encounter by-and-by. But call no man 
master in this branch of philosophy. The dispute about 
the moral sense is little more than mere logomachy. An 
action is right or wrong in reference to a rule, not in 
reference to a sense : it is virtuous or the contrary ac- 
cording to the nature or motives of the agent. The basis 
of moral obligation must be the relation between the 
Creator and the creature ; and the true moral sense is a 
sense of accountableness. Why am I obliged to do what 
is right p Because I must give account of my actions. 

Y 



322 LONDON AGAIN. 

How am I to know what is right ? In the absence of 
revelation, from the imdefaced traces of the law, which 
is the transcript of the will of the Creator written on the 
heart, Eom. ii. 14. But this law must relate to a law- 
giver } and the sense of right and wrong which " wit- 
nesses " to the law must be an instinctive or natural 
consciousness, or rational conviction that certaiu acta 
are approvable or acceptable to God, or thp contrary. 
And true virtue is the desire to please God, and be ap- 
proved by Him. The definitions of virtue proposed by 
Paley, Archbishop King, President Edwards, Bishop 
Butler, and others, are all fallacious. See my article on 
Joyce, M 22., vol. xix., p. 97. With this clew I think 
you need not be puzzled, but may amuse yourself with 
threading the labyrinth of moral theorists. 

(To THE Ebt. H. M.) 

Higfagate, December 30, 1841. 

LXXVI. . . . Ought I not to be perfectly happy ? 
No, you will say, but unspeakably grateful ; and I feel 
this. That Gk>d has greatly favoured and blessed me, I 
am constantly sensible. But, in this world, unalloyed 
peace and joy, even with all the materials around us, are 
not to be realized ; and we must be taught, in some way 
or other, that happiness depends upon living very near 
to Gk>d, and very dependently upon Him. There are 
anxieties, too, arising out of our treasures ; and for the 
last week or two, fears for E.'s safety, exposed as he 
has been to many dangers, and anxiety at not hearing 
from him (he was expecdng to leave Fiance from day to 
day), occasioned me much mental suffering. So it is, 
when we have not afflictions, we make them for onr- 
selvee by diHtrust or over-anxiety. And then there is 



SPIRITUAL CENSORS. 323 

the weariness of spirit which the work, and care, and &g 
of life induce, when we reach my side of fifty. But for 
all that, I think I am happier than kt five-and-twenty ; 
and if it shall please God to spare my health, and avert 
overwhelming calamity, I shall be willing to labour on 
at my post of honourable responsibility, as " ever in my 
great Taskmaster's eye." 

I do not know whether even to so old and sincere a 
Mend as yourself, I should have disclosed so much of 
my sources of domestic pride and comfort, had not your 
letter given me so pleasing an account of your own 
domestic and ministerial happiness. To rejoice with 
those who rejoice, we must be tolerably happy, or super- 
eminently Christian. To weep with those who weep is 
a lower attainment. 

Holly Terrace, March 6, 1842. 

LXXVII. It has pained and vexed me very much 
that you should have had so much cause to wonder at 
not hearing from me ; but I know you wiU have attri- 
buted it to no forgetftdness. I have wished to write to 
you, and have in vain sought for an opportunity since 
your last (to me) of Feb. 5, in which you give an 
account of your visit to Stafford. You take a right view 
of the spirit of the Plymouth Christians, which is more 
ascetic than Pauline ; but, like much of the ancient 
asceticism and mysticism, has been caused, at least in 
part, by what was defective or criminal in the conduct 
of professed Christians. The worst is, that spiritual 
censors, like the hermits, withdraw from those circles 
in which they ought to set a better example. They 
act like a physician, who should renounce the company 
of his patients, and rail against their ailments. No 
doubt we are all to blame, in respect to the negative 



324 LONDON AGAIN. 

fiaults of much of our conversation. MinisterB are espe- 
cially in danger of seeking for a relief from the monotony 
of theological studies and pastoral business, in political 
and other chit-chat. Indolence and false shame also 
have much to do with the avoidance of spiritual subjects. 
Yet it would, I am persuaded, often be found, that if 
introduced, the subject would be welcomed and responded 
to, that seems excluded by common consent. It is a 
great art, and a gift to be sought and cultivated, to con- 
verse profitably and appropriately, and yet not with mere 
professional feeling and knack, 

I wish to know whether your college has taken any 
part or interest in the affair that has excited so much 
stir among the metropolitan colleges, in reference to the 
authority exercised by the trustees of Coward. The 
Baptist students of Stepney are, I understand, zealoua 
for the sacred right of insubordination. I have known 
of several Httle insurrections in academies, and believe 
that very rarely has an insurgent or insubordinate 
student turned out well in after life. Tut<jrs are not 
always all that could be wished, and committees and 
trustees are apt to be very arbitrary, and not over-wise ; 
but still, blessed are the meek, blessed are the peace- 
makers, rather than those who are pugnacious even in 
the cause of right. . . . 

I am glad to find you have time to read the Patriot^ 
and are interested in the articles. Those relating to 
J^Vance are from two ^^codurs mechtmtSy'^ one from the secret 
correspondent you know of, but must not hint at, the 
other a French gentleman wholly unknown to the other 
authority, but whose political views are in precise ac- 
cordance with his. The information obtained from these 
sources is very important, and more authentic than the 
greater part of what appears in the daily papers. 



mmm^^^mim 



NEW TESTAMENT POLITICS. 325 

March 20, 1842. 
LXXVIII. I am seizing a few moments of the quiet 
leisure of this day to answer, as well as I can, your 
politico-theological question. It is, I think, quite certain 
that the New Testament contains no political doctrines, 
and that the injunctions to subjects and to bond-servants, 
respectively, to submit to magistracy and to their earthly 
masters afford no sanction either to an imperial despotism 
like that of Nero, or to slavery, but leave the question 
which you raise to be determined by reason and the prin- 
ciples which He at the foundation of law and social order. 
Political rights, strictly speaking, are created by law, 
and differ from natural rights which are inalienable and 
common to all. The rights of a jpeople, as distinct from 
its rulers, must be derived from the national constitution 
or some conventional arrangement. But extreme cir- 
cumstances may justify, that is, make it right, to have 
recourse to a power which does not belong to the party 
aa a right. Power creates rights for itself, as we speak of 
the rights of conquest, i,e., rights acquired by conquest ; 
and so, a government de facto is looked upon as becoming 
after a time de jttre, it being for the interests of society 
that, even where the original title is not good, lapse of 
time should preclude its being questioned. The right 
of a people to change its government may be a legitimate 
constitutional right ; or, where it is not so, as against 
the sovereign, it is the right of the nation itself in 
respect of aU foreign interference. But as to the right 
of resistance, that must needs be supposed to exist undei^ 
a constitutional limited monarchy, when the Hmits of the 
constitution are violated by the government. Under a 
despotic government, the people have no rights, and 
their consent is a mere fiction. It might as well be said, 
that the negroes in the "West Indies consented to their 



326 LONDON AGAIN. 

being held in predial bondage. Individual submiflsion 
and obedience under such a state of things may be, and 
seems to be prescribed as the duty of a Christian — ^his 
private duty, for political duty he is not in a condition 
to perform, having no political rights. But your question 
is, whether the mass of a nation might not establish a 
representative government on the ruins of a despotiBm. 
Unquestionably, when they had by conquest obtained 
the right and power. To acquire this, they must have 
made war upon the despot, by rebellion or conspiracy. 
It may be right, but it cannot be a right, to do this : 
war suspends all rights. If your question is, which part 
ought a Christian to take in a national struggle for free- 
dom, the answer would be, with that which has justice 
and humanity on its side. The New Testament certainly 
contains nothing to make it binding upon him to side 
with the despot against the people under such circum- 
stances ; but there are many considerations which would 
prevent a Christian from promoting an insurrection or 
civil war, or raising the standard of resistance against 
even an unjust government. It behoves him, as a 
Christian, rather to suffer wrongfully ; and, as a patriot, 
he might well tremble at incurring the responsibility of 
attempting any violent change. "No changes, in &ct, are 
permanent but what are effected by opinion, and are gra- 
dually prepared, though, it may be, suddenly consummated. 
Tell me if this view of the question satisfies your inquiry. 
I do not know all the circumstances of the case you 
refer to as presenting " exceptions ;" but W. H. would 
in my view confirm the rule, as a man in whom the 
spirit of piety is, I fear, awftdly wanting. Students 
ought undoubtedly to be treated as men and as gentle- 
men, and be made to act and, if possible, feel as such ; but 
the discipline of the army makes gentlemen ; and the 



DIFFERENT WAYS OF SERVING GOD. 327 

• 

most rigid discipline in a college may consist with a due 
respect to all the liberty which the inmates of an esta- 
blishment can have a right to claim. I really have not 
examined the matter sufficiently to give an opinion upon 
the late squabble, but can readily believe Coward's 
Trustees to have acted with unwise harshness. 

April 3, 1842. 

LXXIX I have finished my "Exegetical 

Analysis of the Epistle to the Ephesians," which haa 
enabled me to enter more completely than I had done 
into the richness and beauty of this portion of the 
Paxiline writings. I am just beginning to work upon 
the Epistle to the PhiHppians, which is of a very dif- 
ferent character, but full of heart, I should like to think 
that my horm bibliea would be of some advantage to you 
hereafter ; and perhaps you may do by them as Matthew 
Henry did with the MSS. of his father Philip — edit them, 
or work them up into a complete key to the New Testa- 
ment, which is still a desideratum. I look to you as 
David did to Solomon, to fulfil what is in my heart to 
do, but which is not permitted me. You have chosen 
the most honourable species of service. I do not count 
my editorial functions and political duties to be less the 
service of Gk>d than preaching the GK>spel ; and I have 
been apparently ordained to the more secular service. 
But the pastoral work is the more honourable and excel- 
lent, when discharged under the constant inspiration of 
the Spirit of Christ, with all singleness of heart and love 
to the souls which Christ has redeemed. Your conse- 
cration to this work is a great joy to me ; and it is my 
constant and fervent prayer that the Great Head of the 
Chittch may be pleased to spare you to be a pillar of 
the temple, a standard-bearer of the truth, mighty in 



328 LONDON AGAIN. 

the ScriptureB, and wise to win soulfl. Notlung less 
than great usefulness will, I am sure,. satisfy you, for 
these are no ordinary times, and much will be expected 
from you. But you will feel th^it your strength and 
your wisdom are not in yourself, but must be drawn for 
day by day. 

April 2, 1843. 

LXXX. But for the date inscribed at the head of 
your last letter, I could not have beHeved that a month 
had well-nigh elapsed since I received it. The Sabbath 
seems the only day upon which I can command leisure 
for a quiet, thoughtful conversation upon such themes ; 
and quickly do the hours glide away — ^too quickly 1 often 
feel. The mention of the day recalls Dr. Stroud's papers. 
His long-delayed concluding letter is announced for the 
May Number. I have kept back my reply tiU I should 
see aU that he had to say ; but, as he has been so long in 
producing his sequel, I regret that I did not print my 
reply at once. I quite concur in all you say respecting 
the moral part of the Mosaic code — ^the necessary per* 
petuity of all that is strictly ethical, all that is taught as 
truth, which must be distinguished from what is ordained, 
under penal sanctions, as law. The Mosaic economy 
combined a system of theocratic government with a 
system of symbolic instruction, of prophetic ministration^ 
and of grace in the spiritual promises ; and these two 
collateral systems, though differing as law and gospel, or 
as exterior and interior parts of the same dispensation, 
were blended together. The spiritual part consisted in 
the teaching of the prophets from Samuel to Malachi, and 
was quite apart from the Levitical institutes and the 
penal laws. Ethics and law may prescribe or involve the 
same great moral principles, but they are stiU very dif« 
ferent modes of exhibiting and enforcing what is true and 



n 



THE DECALOGUE. 529 

right. Law is essentially prohibitory, compulsory, penal, 
'' working wrath." Moral teaching addresses itself to 
conscience and the affections. I do not know whether 
you will find these distinctions useful ; they are trite, but 
not always kept in view. Now, as to the Decalogue, I 
view it as partaking of the double character of a fiinda* 
mental law-r-a code of which the rest of the Mosaic legis* 
lation was but an exposition and development, and of a 
summary of moral principles, carrying with it an internal 
spiritual import, of which, even under the old dispensa* 
tion, the spiritually enlightened could not be ignorant or 
unconscious. The fifth commandment, indeed, differs 
from the form and character of a law, as being preceptive, 
not prohibitory, and having a promise annexed to it-r—a 
hotmty upon obedience, instead of a penal sanction. The 
tenth, too, is so strictly ethical and spiritual, that it 
could not be penally enforced as law, but was " exceeding 
broad " as addressed to the conscience. Then, as to the 
fourth, it is also a moral precept in its very form, " 22c- 
member ;" and in the reason assigned, differing essentially 
from the Mosaic law of the Sabbath, which was a severe 
penal law, partly founded upon the moral precept, but 
partly on the peculiar political character of the Theocracy. 
The word law is used indiscriminately in Scripture in 
reference to ethical precepts and to penal legislation; 
but it is impossible to suppose that St. Paul, for instance, 
when speaking of the law as he does, 1 Tim. i. 7 — 10, 
means the same thing as when using the same word, 
Item. vii. 7 — 14. . . . 

And now I find I must break off. I intend that this 
sheet should reach you on the day that Greswell has ren- 
dered so honourable above all other days in the Calendar. 

" Be this thy very kw of thought, 
To think, feel, act, like Eim:* 



330 LONDON AGAIN. 

H. T., April 18 [1845]. 
LXXXI. You have chosen a very knotty subject. If 
I understand your theme, it is, whether the government 
of a church by a single elder, or what the Brethren stigma- 
tize as the '* one man system," is conformable to the 
apostolic model, or, in the absence of positive rule, to 
general expediency. I think we may safely assume that 
our Lord and his apostles have lefb us at liberty to follow 
the wisest plans, all regulations of the kind being but a 
means for an end ; but at the same time that the apos- 
tolic plans, so &r as they can be ascertained and followed, 
are likely to prove the wisest under all circumstances. I 
apprehend that the first churches were synagogues, and 
that the synagogue government was generally adopted. 
This is maintained by Vitringa, Lightfoot, StilUngfleet, 
and others, whose works you may some day perhaps find 
time to look into. Now every synagogue had, I imagine, 
its ruler ; but this ruler was not the only elder or bishop, 
stiU less the only minister or teacher. There was the 
imrfpenj^ (Luke iv. 20), perhaps the same as the chazzan, 
or the angel of the apocalyptic churches; perhaps the 
presiding clerk, reader, or minister, but not a teacher. 
We confound the person who presides over the service 
with the person who presides over the society — ^the dean 
with the bishop. In fact, several distinct offices, it seema 
to me, are mixed up in our modem pa«tor ; he is reader, 
preacher or prophet, ruler, visitor of the flock — ^perhaps 
sole elder, etc., all in one. Yet, in small churches, thia 
may be partly necessary or unavoidable, and partly expe- 
dient. The primitive churches were large bodies, and, 
from custom and external position, required to be brought 
under a sort of municipal self-government, in relation to 
secular matters, which would neither be advisable nor 
practicable now. Your question relates not to teaching 



CHURCH GOVERNMENT. 331 

by a single pastor (against which the brethren peculiarly 
rebel), but to governing by a single elder. But why 
should this be ? The ruler of the synagogue, we are told, 
was " the moderator of the college of elders." You know 
my opinion about deacons — ^that they were assistant mi- 
nisters, not chapel-wardens, as ours are. What is greatly 
wanted in our churches is either the separating of all secu- 
lar matters, money matters, etc., from the office of deacon, 
or the confining our deacons to such matters. Let 
those secular officers be tmnually chosen by the people. 
Then, choose three or four elders to assist the pastor 
in ruling, visiting, and watching over the flock. I think 
our "clerk" would be a most useful officer (answer- 
ing, perhaps, very nearly to the chazzan or hyperetes)^ 
were he an elder didy qualiiied to preside over the ar- 
rangements of the service, subordinate to the minister, 
and ordained to the office, instead of being a psalm- 
singuig drudge or hireling, often not even a member of 
the church. "We ought to have trained readers, (how few 
ministers can read a chapter decently !) who might greatly 
relieve the pastor. Why not give lectures to your young 
men upon reading and elocution P But, after aU, govern- 
ment must ultimately rest in a single head, whatever he 
be caUed. 

The unsatisfactory state of our churches, to which 
you refer as presenting much to vex the eye and grieve 
the heart, does not result, I think, from any defects in 
our system, except such as are accidental, but from the 
same causes that led to declension and decay in the 
churches of Ephesus, Sardis, and Laodicea. Formalism 
and indolence, a prayerless and perfiinctory discharge of 
official duties in the half-educated pastor, faults which 
begin at, and in, the academy, originating in imperfect 
conversion or essential inaptitude — these must work 



332 LONDON AGAIN. 

Bpiritual desolation in our churches. Then, when a 
church has once got into a bad state, some form of Anti- 
nomianism is sure to spring up and choke the seed ; and 
a faithful pastor is deemed an enemy, and is doomed to 
reap sorrows from the sins, perhaps, of his predecessor. 
But, if a spirit of prayer is but awakened, the showers 
of Divine influence will not be withheld from the ministry 
of God's truth in the spirit of the Q-reat Teacher. How 
often does the Apostle repeat, God is faithM! What 
we chiefly need, I imagine, is more family religion, pre- 
disposing for the pubHc ministry, and cherishing any 
impressions made. Heads of families are not often ad- 
dressed, prayed for specifically and affectionately, and 
counselled, as they are by Mr. Forster, who is continually 
holding up to the view of his flock the family relation 
and economy as God's ordinance. No man ought to be 
a deacon or officer of the church who does not rule well 
his own house. If the cautions and directions of apos- 
tolic Scripture are set at naught, how can we wonder that 
disorders spring up ? I do not know whether you can 
work upon any of these hints. I should like to hear 
from you to what circumstances or evils you more espe- 
cially advert. But still more, I should be glad to talk 
over these matters. I think of saying more upon the 
subject of our churches in the Fatrwt, but it requires 
much wisdom to know what to say upon so delicate a 
point. I do not believe censors do much good. Physi- 
cians should be good tempered, or seem so. We must 
do all the good we can, and leave the result unanxiously 
with Him whose affair it is to govern all things. This is 
what I endeavour to do, though I confess that my mind 
has been filled with anxious and disturbing thoughts 
about the present position of public affairs, both in the 
church and in political society, as well as with domestic 



INDEPENDENCY. 333 

solicitude as to our future dwelling, and other things. 
How much easier is it to teach others than to teach 
one's self ! Pray for us, and for me specifically, as we 
always do fervently for you, rejoicing at every remem- 
brance of you. 

dapham, July 13, 1845, 
LXXXII. You say in your paper, "If our much 
boasted system should be judged defective in the matter 
of the eldership, are we quite sure that it is perfect and 
apostolical in all other respects?" Now, there is a 
Plymouth tone about this remark which I do not like. 
I have never been accustomed to hear our system boasted 
of, but more commonly picked to pieces by Dissenters 
themselves. Episcopalians, Presbyterians, "Wesleyans, 
— all boast of their respective systems : we defend ours, 
rather than boast of it. It may be not the less true and 
apostolic for all that. But then we must understand 
what the system reaUy is, and not take it &om the 
"feeble and mutOated outline," or rather skeleton, to 
which it may have shrunk in modem practice. I think 
you should study the idea of Independency in the writ- 
ings of Eobinson, Owen, and those who may be regarded 
as its modem founders, before you pronounce upon its 
discrepancy, as a system, firom the New Testament model. 
As to ordination, if you vsrill look to my " View of all 
EeHgions," p. 385, you wiU see that the difference be- 
tween the Presbyterian and the Independent divines 
turned very much upon this point — ^that the latter or- 
dained to office on a previous election ; the former to a 
function or fSsiculty, that of the ministerial order. The 
notion of an indelible character imparted by ordination 
is strictly Papal and Episcopal. Nothing short of sacra- 
mental grace imparted by episcopal hands can give that; 



334 LONDON AGAIN. 

and Fresbyterianism, in mimicking Episcopacy, becomes 
simply ridiculous. 

Then, as to elders who are not ministers or teachers, 
but " ruling elders ;" these are not peculiar to the Pres- 
byterian polity. Cotton, of Boston, U. S. (1646), con- 
siders ruling-elders, together with the pastors and 
teachers, as making up the presbytery of the church, and 
defends even, against Bishop Bilson, their right to main- 
tenance by the church: ^'But let the Lord appoint 
ruling-elders, according to the simplicity of the Gospel, 
to assist his ministers in the work of government, that 
they might attend the more to labour in the Word, if 
they shall expect from the church any maintenance for 
the work's sake. Oh! that seemeth a strange matter," etc. 
(^'Hanbury's Memorials," ii. 661). He contends, too, 
that " in churchwardens and vestrymen are some foot- 
steps and remnants, and as it were rudera of that ancient 
and holy Ordinance, so much as is escaped out of the 
ruins of antichristian apostacy." ^'What other thing 
soundeth the very name of churchwardens, ^uardiani 
eeclesia?*^ I have no doubt you would find abundant 
proof that the founders of Independency did not arrange 
their system to their own mind, but framed it as nearly 
as they could after the pattern in the Book. You are 
combating a shadow in labouring to prove what no one 
denies, a plurality of elders, not all of them jprophets or 
teachers, in the primitive church. But then you must 
not, with our translators, render Acts xx. 28, to feed the 
church of the Lord, but to tend, rule. It is, I believe, 
generally referred to feeding with instruction, but with- 
out any sufficient reason — ^perhaps to suit the theory of 
preaching bishops. 

Purther, there can be no doubt that, in our office of 
deacon (the Dissenting churchwarden), we have an elder^ 



CHURCH GOVERNMENT. 335 

ship practicallj recognised ; and some of our deacons are 
rulers indeed with a vengeance* In some churches there 
is by far too much government ; and sometimes the pastor 
is nothing, the lord-deacon everything. I should have 
thought you would not have taken so one-sided a view 
of the system. A large church requires, of course, a 
different government or governmental staff from a small 
one, which might not even fdrnish materials for a fuU 
complement of officers. So, I conceive, the " church that 
is in thy house," whether it denoted a Christian family, 
or a company accustomed to assemble iu a private house, 
would be under somewhat different rule &om a Christian 
synagogue. But, ordinarily, a church was a synagoguey 
with its president, elders, and chazzan or messenger, or 
rather clerk and secretary. The offices or functions of 
prophet and evangelist were probably distinct from the 
staff of the synagogue. The evangelist was, I think it 
is clear, a missionary, or travelliug preacher. The pro- 
phet was the local preacher or teacher, 1 Cor. xiv. 3 ; 
and the Apostle wished they were all able to prophesy, 
rather than to speak with tongues. There might, then, 
be more prophets or preachers than one in a church ; but 
the gifb seems to have been a distinguishing and not very 
common one. Therefore, special honour was to be given 
to those elders who laboured in the word and doctrine 
(1 Tim. V. 17), L e,y who exercised the g^ of prophecy. 
Judas and Silas (Acts xv. 32) being themselves prophets, 
*. tf., preachers, exhorted and confirmed the brethren. I 
take it that the prophetic office, which was not Levitical, 
and was older than the synagogue polity, was always in 
the Jewish church, and was continued down through the 
Christian — ^an office ordinarily connected with scholastic 
training (as there were schools of the prophets), and 
with appropriate gifts. To reconcile James iii. 1, with 



336 LONDON AGAIN. 

1 Cor. xiv. 6, 39, it is only necessaiy to suppose that the 
assumption of the professional character of a rabbi or 
teacher, from ambition or conceit, was an evil to be de- 
precated; and the church was too soon infested with 
such pretenders, against whom the people are cautioned, 
1 Cor. xiv. 37 ; ib, xii. 3 ; 1 John iv. 2, 3. Still, to be 
able to speak to men " to edification, and exhortation, 
and comfort," was an attainment to which all were en- 
couraged to aspire. Consequently, though an elder 
might or might not be a prophet, a prophet was not, as 
such, an elder — ^he was, like your father, if I may say so, 
a lay preacher ; and to speak boldly, I consider myself as 
exercising, alike by my pen and by word of mouth, the 
proper gift and ftinction of a New Testament prophet. 

It would be found much easier, however, to bring" 
back our churches to a nearer conformity to the primi- 
tive model, than to restore the meaning of words, and to 
get them to acknowledge that you are a bishop and I a 
prophet — ^that a lay elder is a presbyter, or that a deacon 
is a minister. Nor is it worth while to dispute about 
words. Happily, there is nothing in our system to for- 
bid our conforming as closely as we can to the apostolic 
model ; and though I believe with you, that a consider- 
able latitude of adaptation to circumstances is allowed 
us, yet the nearer we keep to the primitive rule in prin- 
ciple, the better our system wiU work. We must take 
care, however, not to mistake, with the Plyinouth 
Brethren, the Corinthian church for a model, instead of 
its being a beacon. 

LXXXIII. . . , Where do you get your notion 
of ordained teachers ? Were the prophets ordained P I 
know of no ordination but either to an office or to a 
specific mission. Teaching is not an office, nor a func- 



ELDERS AND CHURCHES. 337 

tion restricted to office. Office is a charge implying rule 
and responsibility, as that of rulers of a synagogue. 
Elders were not ordained as elders, but ordaiued rulers : 
I mean, were not made elders, but rulers, by appointment 
or ordination.* There are many Jewish synagogues in 
London, each having its rulers and officers ; yet, if I am 
not mistaken, aU. the London synagogues (except those 
of the new school), acknowledge one chief rabbi, and are, 
in a sense, one synagogue. The word synagogue is used 
with the same latitude and diversity as church — applying 
either to an assembly or to a society. Thus, the Jews of 
Liberta, Cyrene, and Alexandria, according to Q-reswell, 
formed one synagogue, . There must have been more 
churches than one in Eome when Paul arrived in that 
city. I caiinot, however, attach much importance to 
these questions, and am open to farther light. I have 
not yet had time to look into Davidson, or to read 
Wardlaw. . Shall I send them to you ? I feel sure of 
this : that ordaining men to write hymns, to ^dit reli- 
gious works, to be authors, is quite as rational and scrip- 
tural as ordaining them to preach the gospel. Hence, 
licensing the press and licensing preachers have gene- 
rally gone together when Church authority was in the 
ascendant. I consider myself, aUke in writing and in 
preaching, to be discharging the prophetical function as 
defined, 1 Cor. xiv. 3. 

I have just been dipping into* Davidson's Lectures, 
and light upon this, at page 152, " as long as there were 
prophesying and teaching, besides other spiritual gifts, in 
the primitive churches, the elders would probably devote 
themselves to the work of general superintendence and 

* Wardlaw, I see, denies this ; but why were tl\ey called bishops, 
if elder implied what elders we^ ordained to ? , 

z 



338 LONDON AGAIN. 

rule, much more than to that of instructors." This quite 
accords with my views. 

March 29, 1846. 

LXXXIV. . . . Now, touching the offending 
couplet of mj last hymn, I hope that you will like this 
better — 

" And love and duteous deeds shall be 
Our life's incessant liturgy." 

I would have defended my division of " shall be " by 
Vvrgilicm precedent, and, if I mistake not, by examples 
from our elder poets, but I give up ; and the above is 
pronounced an improvement. I am pleased that you 
like the other hymn best, although I readily subscribe 
to all you say on behalf of good Dr. Watts. That hymn 
of his is certainly one of the most beautiful in the lan- 
guage, and deservedly popular, although, I fear, its popu* 
larity is partly owing (as is often the case with popular 
compositions) to its lower pitch of sentiment. "What I 
mean is, that while pious beHevers can attribute a higher 
meaning to the expressions than they naturally suggest, 
common minds can derive pleasure from the mere poetry. 
It is thus that the " Pilgrim's Progress " pleases all 
readers ; although what a different book it is to the 
delighted child, the mere man of taste, the pious rustic, 
and the instructed experimental Christian ! " There is 
a land," etc., would read very differently to a mere lover 
of poetry, and to a dying saint ; yet it would be admired 
by both. Mine would be insipid and unintelligible to a 
mere professor. But it is worth while sometimes to 
write for one's self, and for the few who will sympathise 
with the feeling. 

I have been reading to-night in the family circle, in- 
stead of a sermon, my review of Joyce on "Love to God," 



UNION MEETINGS. 339 

in an old volume of the Eclectic. Have you ever read it? 
Some of my best and most useful writing is scattered 
through those forty-six volumes, and I often think I 
should like to select some of the best for republication ; 
onh/ it would not sell ! I refer especially to such as this 
article, and those on Coppleston on " Predestination," 
Dwight's "Theology," Principal HiU's "Lectures," 
Lawrence and Pring on " Physiology," Dewar's " Moral 
Philosophy," Brougham's " Natural Theology," Erskine, 
etc., on "Faith," etc., etc. I have almost materials 
enough for an " Outline .of Theology." But I feel as if 
I had nearly done enough. Only one does not Hke what 
one has done to be lost. 

I meant to have adverted to the subject of your dis- 
course, but must defer it. Lift up your voice against 
those German gnostics and neologists. The Epistle to 
the Hebrews distinctly recognises the threefold character 
of our Lord in the triple type, Moses, Aaron, and Mel- 
chisedec, the greater than David. 

Sheffield, Oct. 22, 1847. 
LXXXV. You will have gathered from my leader 
upon the subject, that the York meetings were of a highly 
interesting and satisfactory character. A very solemn 
impression was produced by the recent death of Mr. Ely; 
but in all respects it was one of the best sustained series 
of meetings \ ever attended. Wells exceeded himself in 
the unaffected eloquence and good sense of his speeches ; 
and his rebuke of one of Mr. J 's croaking lamenta- 
tions was one of the most effective and admirable I ever 
heard — ^its perfect good humour and respectful tone pre- 
venting its being in the slightest degree offensive. These 
truly fraternal meetings must be productive of the hap- 
piest effect. On the Wednesday some hundred Or more 



4 
/ 



340 LONDON AGAIN. 

of us, with leave of our learned and reverend chairman, 
flocked to the afternoon service at the Minster. It was 
the anthem day, Dr. Camidge presiding at the organ. 
The voluntary was Beethoven's Hallelujah Chorus from 
the " Mount of Olives " — I need not say how admirably 
given on the beautiful organ. The anthem was but a 
verse, but very sweetly sung. I attended also the morn- 
ing service on Friday, when the Te Deum was sung. It 
is a glorious old edifice ; but I thought the service would 
have been more in keeping had it been in Latin. The 
lesson from the Apocrypha was all very well ; but that 
from the New Testament sounded to my ear quite out of 
place — not at aU in agreement with the genius loci. By 
the way, the attendance of so many black coats and wliite 
cravats produced an evident sensation ; and the precentor, 
immediately after giving out the anthem, turned to a 
gentleman, and whispered, "Is Dr. Campbell among 
them ?" ! ! We all behaved very decorously. . . . 
We walked on the walls, but I had not time to see the 
chapter-house, as we leff'Tork by the three o'clock train. 
To-day we have aU had a delicious walk to the Riva- 
ling VaUey, the scenery being lighted up by bright 
gleams, interchanged with Hght flying showers and busy 
clouds ; and Mont, and Miss Gale have been drinking tea. 
I find you saw but very little of the poet. The Patriot 
and the " Apocal3rpse " have furnished my pen with 
ample employment since I have been here. I have just 
finished the exposition of chap, xvi., and have passed the 
line which separates the past from the undisclosed future. 
Think of it — Time's clock is near upon striking yeywcv, 
actum est, I preached on the Sunday evening after my 
arrival here, from John iv. 42, but took no part last 
Lord's day. I expect to take the morning service on the 
next, and to plead the cause of British missions. 



THE APOCALYPSE. 341 

Sept. 29, 1847. 

LXXXVI. . . . I spent' part of the morning in 
working out, to my own satisfaction, the problem of the 
Vintage in Eev. xiv., having previously satisfied myself 
that the Harvest denotes the religious wars that followed 
the Eeformation, from 1560 to 1713 ; the Vintage, you 
will perhaps be startled to find, extending firom 1740 to 
1815. But, when you come to compare the history with 
the prediction, you wiU see that this is no uncertain con- 
jecture. We are shamefuUy, I was going to say atheis- ' 
tically, ignorant of recent history — of the dealings of 
God with his church, and the great anti-church, in these 
latter days. The manner in which Elliott leaps over the 
three centuries between the Reformation and the French 
Eevolution is surprising. They must be indicated in the 
prophecy ; and yet it is only under the figures of the 
Harvest and the Vintage that they can be referred to. ' 

As to the deadly wound of the Beast, my explanation 
is different from that of any preceding expositor, but I 
have no hesitation in saying it must be the right one, as 
the Beast is the revived "Western Empire, not the Papal 
monster. The wounded head must have been tlie existing 
governing head — ^that of the Carlovingian Empire, which 
was apparently extinct in the hiatus of seventy-four 
years which occurs between Charles the Fat, the last of 
the Carlovingian race, and Otho the Great, who claimed 
to be the successor of Charlemagne and the CcBsars. 
(Bobertson'6 "Charles V. ;" " View of Europe," sect, iii.; 
Gibbon, chap, xlix.) Had the prediction not noticed 
this temporary extinction of the empire, it would have 
been wanting in an essential feature of correspondence 
to the facts. 

1 have no fears of the Papacy in a political point of 
view, but we seem on the eve of the Seventh Vial, if not 



342 LONDON AGAIN. 

under it. Our obvious duty and safety are to keep clear 
of being mixed up with Eome in her sins. But the end 
is not yet. The 1260 days will not have run out before 
A.D. 2029 or 2041 ; by which time we shall all be, I trust, 
in the better country. 

Clapham, July 20, 1848. 

LX'XXVII. My dbab Feiend, — ^Tour kind letter 
of inquiry ought to have obtained a prompt reply, but at 
the time it reached me I was not allowed or able to use 
my pen ; and a reply was a task to which, under the 
anxieties and duties of the time, my dear wife was un- 
equal. I have had a most merciful escape. The wound 
was so serious, that had inflammation ensued, there 
would have been immediate danger of a fatal issue. 
The tendon was nearly severed: it has apparently re- 
united, and promises me the entire use of my foot, so 
that I have to bless God foi' escape also from permanent 
lameness. The wound is now completely healed, and my 
medical attendants have expressed their surprise and 
satisfaction at the very favourable progress of the wound 
from the first. I have sufiered, of course, j&om pain and 
weariness, from the bandages, and from the effects of con- 
finement, but far less than I could have expected. It has 
been a season greatly to be remembered for the gracious 
kindness of God, who has not only averted immediate 
and multiform danger, but sustained my dear wife and 
myself in a patient and confident trust in his goodness. 
I owe much to great medical skill, and not less to con- 
stant, tender, unwearied nursing. I am now resinning 
the use of my pen. . . . 

Meantime, I have been much impressed with the 
removals that have taken place, while I have beenxaised 
up again — as I trust for future service. I was particu- 



THE TIMES PASSING OVER US. 343 

larly struck with the (to me) sudden death of Mr. 
Gunn ; then Dr. Payne ; others of my acquaintance in 
private life ; and now Dr. Hamilton ! He who has the 
keys of the Grave and of Death, openeth, and no man 
shutteth. He is sovereign, and giveth no account of his 
matters. But He is unerring in wisdom, and doeth all 
things well. 

I do not know whether you have been passing through 
town ; but, till within a few days, I have seen nobody, 
being still confined to my room, and obliged to be kept 
quiet. NoWy I should be very happy to see you. Failing 
this, let me hear how you all are. 

What times we are living in ! As regards the Church, 
what need of prayer to the Divine Head to " give apostles 
and prophets," pastors after his own heart, and efficient 
standard-bearers, to fill up the thinned ranks, and carry 
on the war against the mighty ! Do you study the 
Apocalypse ? I have an Exposition complete and ready 
for press, if I can but find a publisher. You can recog- 
nise, I take it for granted, the pouring out of the seventh 
vial upon the air, and know, what time it is by the 
prophetic chronometer. I find many of our ministers 
practically reject the Apocalypse as unintelligible. This 
is a sad error; as if there were no medium between 
monomania and lethargy or indifference. Many of our 
Professors have adopted neological views respecting it. 
My work will vindicate, if it appears, its Divine character, 
and distinct, legible, unequivocal import and fulfilment, 
up to the present most remarkable European crisis. But 
" the end is not yet." 

January 18, 1849. 

LXXXVIII. ... As to myself, my general health, 
as increased bulk and weight, and my aspect indicate, 



344 LONDON AGAIN. 

has been improved by my five months' rest. I cannot 
walk very fkr without fatigue ; but as the leg is all rights 
I hope that it will gain strength ; and I am told that I 
must not be disappointed if a year should elapse before 
I walk again as well as ever. I trust that the discipline 
has not been wholly without finiit ; and that the Lord 
has spared me for service and usefulness. 

My work on the Apocalypse, though prepared in 
1847, has undergone thorough revision during my con- 
finement, and I hope that it may be accepted as a first* 
finiit ofiering. The feeling you express respecting the 
study of the Apocalypse, I find very extensively preva- 
lent among our pastors — ^too often degenerating into an 
irreverent incredulity as to the possibility of making 
anything of the Book. This is surely a most undesirable 
state of opinion apiong the spiritual guides of the people. 
It is a weak place in the body — ^a something to conceal. 
To rescue the study and use of the Apostolic prophecies 
from this general neglect and misapprehension, has been 
a principal motive to undertaking the work. I have no 
disposition to blame you ; but the want of interest in 
the study of the allegorical which you express, must 
equally preclude your satisfieustion in studying the pro- 
phecies of Ezekiel, Daniel, and especially Zechariah. I 
hope that you will find that I have succeeded in trans- 
lating the symbolical into the historical; and in both 
accounting for the diversity of interpretation, and re- 
moving the stumbling-blocks in the way of a pious 
student of the Book. I am myself perfectly satisfied as 
to the certain correspondence between the predictions 
and the events which I have endeavoured to illustrate ; 
and as to the future, I do not attempt to do more than 
explain the import of the figurative language. I am sure 
you wiU be interested in the work as throwing light 



KESWICK. 345 

upon the mystery of God's providence ; and I shall be 
very glad to find that its perusal imparts to you any 
measure of that satisfaction which I have derived from 
composing it. 

Keswick, September 25, 1851. 

LXXXIX. . . . We have turned to the best 
account the delightfiil weather we have had up to this 
morning. Tuesday was a splendid day, with a golden 
sunset, aind the most exquisite aerial tints on the moun* 
tains that guard Derwent's lovely water. Wednesday, 
the gold was turned to silver beauty, presaging the 
approaching change. We visited a romantic spot in the 
neighbourhood, where Wordsworth owned a little slip of 
the soil, at the foot of Skiddaw. We have not taken any 
long excursion since our visit to Buttermere (of which I ' 
think I gave you an account), in company with the two 
clergymen and their wives. They left Keswick; on the 
Thursday ; and I then availed myself of the first leisure 
to find out the " Independent minister," whom, I think 
I told you, I have been much pleased with ; and this has 
led to our making personal acquaintance with Miss 
Rolleston, of whom I have often heard Hone speak with 
enthusiasm ; an accomplished and extraordinary person, 
skilled in Hebrew, reads Syriac and Sanscrit, writes no 
despicable verse, draws, is enthusiastically attached to 
this mountain region with its local traditions, and, what 
is best of all, is a pious and excellent person, active, and 
influential, and not ashamed of the reproach of Dissent, 
though, by birth and connections, a churchwoman of the 
" Clapham sect." There has come here, to visit heir, 
another remarkable personage, the sister of the Arch- 
deacon of New Zealand,herself of the Plymouth fraternity, 
buj; a very pleasing, strong-minded woman, who, having 



346 * LONDON AGAIN. 

lived in New Zealand and visited America, seems to 
think nothing of making a trip next year to Jerusalem, 
being much interested in the work of conversion among 
the Jews. These two ladies have been our companions 
in our little excursions the past three days, and I had 
them as auditors last evening, in giving an address at the 
neat little chapel erected here at the cost of one of the 
seceders from Quakerism at Kendal, who has become a 
Plymouth brother ; in compliance with the request of 
Mr. Dallow, the minister, a simple-hearted, excellent 
man, who is on the most brotherly terms with Mr. 
Davidson. These " brethren" are, in fact, openocommunion 
Baptists, with a slight tinge of peculiarity, and with 
Millenarian notions, but nothing fanatical or sectarian, 
so far as I have seen. I forget whether I told you 
that I was to preach at the '* Independent chapel" on 
Sunday. It is a small and rude place, and I have 
no doubt that if such a church as your Sturminster 
model could be erected here, it would soon be filled. 
It is quite discreditable to us as a body to have no better 
place of worship here. I had the place full, and a 
very attentive auditory in the evening. I spoke from 
Heb. i. 2. 

. . . You will have recognised as mine the articles 
on Eather !N'ewman and his Mystifications and the 
British Quarterhfs croakings. So far as I can learn, 
the state of our congregations in Cumberland affords 
cause for much satisfaction. I am sure that a hopeful 
view of things is the most healthy, and I should think 
the most becoming in the Master's sight. 



CHAPTER IX. 



GOING HOME. 



Mi^ciriTL and wise in their severity are those sharp 
strokes of sorrow, which loosen the heart-roots from 
their fond hold on this earthly soil, and so prepare the 
Christian for being transplanted into the winterless 
Eden above. The Hfe whose progress we have been 
tracing was apgroaching, though unconsciously, very 
near ijhe threshold of immortality. But in the narrow 
space which yet intervened there were some rough steps 
to be trodden, and some bitter lessons of patience, sub- 
mission, and faith to be learned ; — some sweet ones, too, 
of the power of God's love, and promises, and Holy 
Spirit, to comfort his children in affliction, and to make 
his strength perfect in their weakness. 

The arrows of death, which for more than twenty 
years had been falling all around the family circle, with- 
out touching it, except in the instance of Mr. Conder's 
venerable mother, now began to fall thickly within it. 
At the commencement of 1853, Mr. Conder was called to 
follow to the grave the remains of his highly esteemed 
and valued brother-in-law, the Eev. Thomas Smith ; in 
the summer, of Mrs. Conder's stepfather. At the close 
of the same year, his eldest grandson, a child of whose 
loveliness and promise the writer wiU not trust himself 
here to speak, was called away to a world for which he 



348 GOING HOME. 

seemed more fit than for that in which he left us behind. 
After little more than a year, Mr. Conder's youngest 
granddaughter followed her brother, in the spring of the 
same year which closes this biography. 

A heavier affliction than these, oi* probably than any- 
other in Mr. Conder's life, was the illness of his beloved 
wife, in the autumn of the same year in which his family 
circle was thus visited with the unaccustomed presence 
of death. For some time, what we, in our ignorance, 
are wont to call " the worst," seemed inevitable ; by the 
blessing of God upon skilful and indefatigably kind 
medical treatment, and devoted and tender nursing, fatal 
results were averted ; but health was not restored, and 
thus, though the edge of the trial was abated, its weight 
was not removed. " Thus," wrote Mr. Conder, to a 
friend, towards the close of 1854, " thus are omr trials 
and consolations blended, and we shall see hereafter how 
graciously, and tenderly, and wisely we have been dealed 
with." 

At Christmas, 1854, Mr. Conder removed to St. 
John's Wood, little supposing that the following Christ- 
mas would bring the appointed time for his quitting 
" this earthly house of our tabernacle," and entering on 
the " house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." 
This closing year, but for the trials already indicated, 
would probably have been one of the happiest of his life. 
Cares that in former years had pressed heavily had been 
removed. He still felt himself equal to his work, except 
when suffering from occasional indisposition, and fully 
capable of enjoying prolonged life, if it were Q-od's will ; 
while at the same time he felt (as he himself said) that 
he had reached an age at which each added year of life 
was to be regarded '* as a boon ;" and the removal of one 
after another of his coevals uttered to his ear a solemn 



REMOVAL TO ST. JOHN'S WOOD. 349 

note of admonition, not unheeded. His interest in public 
affairs, and anxiety to serve the Christian Church, and in 
especial his own denomination, were as intense as ever. 
The new residence, chosen for the sake of being near one 
of his sons, was more commodious and cheerful than 
either of his previous London abodes. The locality was 
pleasant and healthful, on the crest of the outermost 
' wave of the deluge of bricks and mortar which incessantly 
rolls onward over the green fields. He found himself 
surrounded with a circle of fiiends, old and new, amongst 
whom he felt more at home than had been the case for 
many previous years. The Sabbaths were days of much 
quiet enjoyment ; and he highly prized the ministry of 
the Rev. "Watson Smith, at that time minister of New 
College Chapel. Neither his habits of criticism nor 
his pulpit labours had spoiled him for being a candid 
and attentive hearer and a devout worshipper. Indeed, 
the praises and prayers of the house of Grod were to 
hinu still more important, as means of feeding and in- 
vigorating spiritual life, than the preaching. When re- 
siding at Kennington, he would occasionally attend the 
Weighhouse, not so much for the sake of the masculine 
and impressive address from the pulpit, which he well 
knew how to appreciate, as for the sake of the refresh-' 
ment and profit afforded by the worship. He believed 
public worship capable of being made both delightful 
and profitable, to a degree which our churches have as 
yet hardly imagined, much less attempted. Yet he 
greatly enjoyed earnest, thoughtful, and scriptural 
preaching, and ofben expressed his satisfaction in this 
respect while residing at St. John's "Wood. 

It seemed as though a busy and anxious life might 
have in store a tranquil and serene, yet not inactive, 
evening. But the sun wad already on the mountains. 



352 GOING HOME. 

preaching or bearing sermons on striking texts, some in 
sleepless hours at night, and some in seasons of severe 
trial and spiritual conflict — are the records of his deepest 
personal experience as a Christian. They belong to all 
periods of his life ; but, as might be expected, those com« 
posed near its close are simpler in expression, and deeper 
in tone. The following brief hymn seems to express the 
prevailing temper of his mind, in contemplating the ap- 
proaching termination of his pilgrimage : — 

What joy, when life seems almost spent, 

And our departure near at hand, 
To feel serenely confident 

That we in Christ accepted stand ! 

That life's great combat is achieved, 
GThat we our course assigned have run ; 

Hare kept the fiiith we have received. 
And that our Master^s work is done. 

But, oh ! for service poor as mine, ' 

Too high a prize the victor*s crown. 
The honours which thy hands assign. 

Lord I at thy feet I'll cast them down. 

In the beginning of November, 1855, shortly after 
completing his sixty-sixth year, Mr. Conder was seized 
with what speedily proved to be an attack of jaundice. 
From this first attack he appeared to rally. His last 
letter, dated December Ist, speaks of his recovery as 
making progress, though very slow and tedious. But in 
the course of about ten days, a change for the worse took 
place, and he was reduced so low, that it became evident 
that recovery was all but hopeless. For another fort- 
night the balance fluctuated between faint hopes and 
growing fears. All that medical skill could do was done, 
and the disease itself was subdued ; but the fearful pros- 
tration of strength baffled all efforts to reinforce the ex- 



LAST ILLNESS. 353 

hausted energies of life. Extreme weakness unfitted him, 
for the most part, for conversation, and even for enjoying, 
except a few times, being prayed with or read to. On 
one occasion, however, he roused himself, and spoke at 
considerable length, expressing very clearly his state of 
mind, and his wishes as to what should be done in the 
event of his decease. If it were God's will, he would 
have wished, he said, to live, not from " any clinging to 
life," but for the sake of his wifc and daughter ; and he 
felt it a duty to use the best means of recovery, while 
resigning himself into God's hands. "When strong enough 
to bear it, he found comfort in hearing some of his own 
hymns read to him, especially those most directly referring 
to the Saviour. His hymns, he said, while they reproved 
him, comforted him. Some few evenings before his 
death, he desired to have read the hymn commencing, 

They whom the Father giveth 

By covenant to the Son, 
Must live, because He liveth, 

And Christ and they are one.* 

And also the following, which he said he had composed for 
a death-bed hymn, and which chanced to be in the very 
last sheet that had come from the printer's, and lay 
waiting for th| pen that was never to be busy again. As 
it was very difficult for him, from extreme weakness, to 
fix his attention, he had it read three times, and then said 
that he had it by heart. " Now you can sleep upon that," 
said one of his children. " Oh, yes," was the earnest 
answer, " and die upon it." 

TJpholden by the hand 

On which my £edth has hold ; 
Kept by Gk)d's mighty power I stand 
Secure within the fold. 

* ** Hymns of Praise, Prayer, and Pevout Meditation," p. 155 

A A 
% 



354 GOING HOME. 

Weak, fickle, apt to slide, 

His fiiithfulness IVe proved ; 
Because I in the Lord confide, 

I never sliall be moved. 

Beset with fears and cares. 

In Him my heart is strong : 
All things, in life and death, are theirs. 

Who to the Lord belong.* 

The last portion of Scripture that was read to him 
was part of the 14th chapter of St. John's Gospel. When 
his son rose from prayer, he raised his hands, smote them 
together twice or thrice, and said, with emphasis and 
great feeling, " Blessed be God, I believe. I understand 
it, and I believe it. Blessed be God !" His son said 
something of the foundation laid in those words for our 
faith being a rock; to which he fervently responded, 
" Yes ; a rock !" After this he spoke but little. The 
last morning (December the 27th) he could only bear a 
very brief prayer, to which he gave a fervent "Amen.** 
He sank into a quiet sleep ; and soon after eight o'clock 
in the evening, so gently that the boundary between sleep 
and death was scarcely visible, his spirit dropped the 
mantle of flesh, and entered into rest in the presence of 
his Lord. 

The end had come sooner than he or others expected ; 
but it could not be said to have come prematurely. Mea- 
sured by labour and by experience, though not by mere 
lapse of years, his life had been a long one. The wish 
cherished in earlier years, "that he might finish his 
course," was not denied. Wo great end of life was unac- 
complished, no great task undischarged, no unreached 
goal yet in view. He might still have worked on, cheer- 

''Hjmns of Praise, Prayer, and Devout Meditation," p. 166. 



' THE COURSE FINISHED. 355 

fully and happily ; and still have lea<med more completely 
those same lessons, whether of thankfulness and joy, or 
of submission and patience, which past years had taught. 
But his Master saw that it was time to call him to nobler 
work, and deeper, sweeter, happier sources of wisdom. 
Heavy as the sorrow was to those from whom he was sepa- 
rated, on his own account there was nothing to regret, 
but full reason to give thanks to Q-od. 

His remains were laid in Abney Park Cemetery, on 
the 3rd of January, 1856. His old and esteemed friend, 
the Eev. Dr. Morison, though in a very feeble state of 
health, most kindly undertook to conduct the funeral 
service ; an ofELce which he discharged in the most judi- 
cious, feehng, and appropriate manner. It had not been 
the intention of the family to ask any minister to preach 
a fdneral sermon, but the late excellent and amiable 
^president of New College, the Eev. Dr. Harris, expressed, 
in the kindest manner, his wish to render what he con- 
sidered a tribute due to the memory of the deceased. 
Such a suggestion could not but be gratefully responded 
to. The sermon was preached at New College Chapel 
on Sunday, January 13th, from the words, " There re- 
maineth, therefore, a rest to the people of Q-od."* Little 
did either the preacher or his hearers anticipate that 
within a twelvemonth he would have entered into that 
rest, and his own funeral sermon be preached from the 
same pulpit, and that to himself his own striking words 
would so soon be applicable : — " He knows the secret 
now. He hath passed through the portal, and entered 
into rest. He is made free of the universe, with heaven 
for an inheritance." 

* The Bermon was published under the title of " The Divine 
Eest ;" together with the address dehvered by Dr. Morison at the 
funeral. (Snow, pp. 32.) 



356 GOING HOME. 

In the foregoing pages it has been the editor's effort 
and design to let the life which he has undertaken to 
record tell, as far as possible, its own tale, without com- 
ment from him. He cannot, perhaps, more fitly fill this 
closing page than with a few sentences from Dr.Morison's 
funeral address — ^the honest tribute of a hearty, but dis- 
cerning friend. The lines which follow were read in the 
course of that address, and were (as already mentioned) 
the last which their author corrected for the press. 

** It is not an exaggeration to affirm that Josiah Conder 
was no ordinary man. If Nonconformists should prove 
themselves unmindful of their obligations to him, they 
will be undeserving of another champion equally qualified 
to assert and defend their claims. As their correct and en- 
lightened annalist — as the conductor for many years of the 
only Review they could then call their own — as the author 
of not a few productions which have earned for him the 
reputation of a scholar, a theologian, a biblical critic, and 
a man of general knowledge and accomplishment — and 
as the wise, and prudent, and energetic editor of one of 
their best newspapers, though not unassisted, Josiah 
Conder will deserve a name and a place among Noncon- 
formists while the world stands. 

" Nor will the taste and temper which distinguished 
his literary course be forgotten by those who wish ever 
that the truth should be spoken in love, and who know 
that 'the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of 
God.' The culture of our departed brother's mind for- 
bade every approach to coarseness and vulgarity, while 
his poetic fervour and elevation imparted to his ordinary 
compositions the charm of pure and beautiful English. 

**Well has he served his God and his generation. 
Most actively has he devoted his powers to the cause of 
truth and righteousness. We will not think meanly of 



THE COURSE FINISHED. 357 

forty years of devoted toil, because it did not please God 
to add a few more to them. We are thankful for every 
remembrance of him, as of one who had much of the 
mind of Christ in him ; who not only trod the paths of 
literature with a dignified and intelligent step, but also 
walked humbly with his Gk)d ; adorned every relation of 
human life, as a son, a husband, a father,' and a friend ; 
and whose last hours were sweetly irradiated by the 
bright shining of the Sun of Righteousness." 



O Q-OD, to whom the happy dead 
Still live, imited to their Head, 

Their Lord and ours the same ; 
For all thy saints, to memory dear, 
Departed in thy faith and fear, 

We bless thy holy name. 

By the same grace upheld, may we 
So follow those who follow Thee, 

As with them to partake 
The free reward of heavenly bliss. 
Mercifiil Father ! grant us this, 

For our Redeemer's sake. 



THE END. 



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MISSIONAEY LABOUES AND SCENES IN 
SOUTHERN AFRICA. By the Rev. Robebt Moitat, 
Twenty-three years an Agent of the London Missionary Society in 
that Continent, and Father-in-law of Dr. Livingston. 

Dedicated to Her Grace the Duchess of Sutherland. 
In post Svo, with portrait, 6#. 6(2., 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A FTJGITIYE NEGRO: his 

■^ Anti-Slavery Labours in the United States, Canada, and 
England. By Samuel Ringgold Wabd. 

''A noble book by a noble man — physically, intellectually, and 
morally ; and we are sure it will meet with a noble reception by 
the liberty-loving sons of Ghreat Britain. The story of his life wiU 
speedily be read by tens of thousands. It is a volume of deep and 
romantic interest." — Christian Weekly News, 

In 18mo, cloth elegant, 28. 6c2., 

SCENES OE THE BIBLE; a Series of Scripture 
Sketches. By the Rev. William Clabeson, Missionary &om 
India. 

This day is published, in small Svo, cloth lettered, price 5«., 

LIFE SPIRITUAL : its Nature and Progress. By the 
Rev. Geobge Smith, Trinity Chapel, Poplar. 

By the Author of " Come to Jesus." 
Just published, a New Edition (Nineteenth Thousand), crown Svo, 

with Portrait, 4*., 

THE CHRISTIAN PHILOSOPHER TRIUMPHING 
1 OVER DEATH. By the Rev. Newman Hall, LL.B. 



WOBZS PUBLISHED BY JOHK BNOW, FATBRITOSTEB BOW. 

Second Edition. This day is published, in fscp. 870, price 8#., 

cloth lettered, 

HOW TO SUCCEED IN LIFE. A Guide to the 
Toung. By the Bey. J. B. Listbb, of the Congregational 
School, Lewisham. 

'< There is not a page nor a paragraph which presents not some- 
thing really of importance." — ChristianWitnest. 

Second Edition. This day is published, in one yoL, post 8yo, 

cloth lettered, price 9«., 

TjlEMALE SCEIPTUEE BIOGBAPHY; preceded by an 
-C Essay on "What Christianity has Done for Woman.** By 
the Bey. F. A. Cox, D.D., LL.D. 

This day is published, in fscp. 8yo, doth lettered, 1«., 

THE PRISON OPENED AND THE CAPTIVE 

i- LOOSED ; or, the Life of a Thief as seen in the Death of a 
Penitent. By the Eev. Josiah Vikby. 

This day is published, in fscp. 8yo, cloth, price St., 

NAAMAN ; or, Life's Shadows and Sunshine. £7 the 
JRey. T. W. AvBUNGh. 
*' The volume is alternately interspersed by brilliant conceptions, 
beautiful figures, weighty sentiments, and strokes of pathos. It 
cannot fail to obtain extensiye fiEiyour with the Church of Chxialb*' — 
Christian Witness. 

Fifteenth Thousand, 8yo, sewed, 2#., 

ANTI-BACCHUS : An Essay on the Crimes, Diseases, 
and other Eyils connected with the Use of Litoxicating Drinks. 
By the Bey. B. Pabsons. 

" We conjure our readers to giye this yolume an attentiye, candid 
perusal, from a decided conyiction that, in proportion as its circula- 
tion is promoted, and its contents are impartially read, wiU be stayed 
one of the mbst Creadful eyils that eyer affllicted the human race.*' — 
Methodist New Connection Magazine. 

rOB THE USE OF AITXIOUS INQUIBEBS AFTER 

SALVATIOW^. 
Fortieth Thousand, with Portrait, If. ; cloth lettered, la. 6(1., 

THE CONYEKSIOlSr AI^D DEATH-BED EXPERI- 
1 ENCE OP MRS. LITTLE : to which is added, A GUIDE 
TO PEACE WITH GOD. 

** I belieye it is one of those hallowed productions which the Lord 
Jesus will make use of for years, if not for ages to come, in winning 
souls to himself." — Rev. R. Morison, 



JOHN SNOW, 36, PATERNOSTEE ROW. 
2f 



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